Harry Holmes and the Web of Conspiracy
by ZenoNoKyuubi
Summary: The sequel to The Chronicles of Harry Holmes! I hope you all like it!
1. Chapter 1

**Here you go, chapter one of my sequel! The posting will be slow, as I will try to post the chapters as soon as I finish them, instead of finishing the fic _before_ posting them. Please leave a review at the door.**

–

The now twenty-year old Harry Potter slowly closed the book _Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire_ and put it down as he sat alone in his flat, smoking his pipe. He had to admit, it was not at all the same without Neville around. It was good to have someone with him on whom he could rely to be there for him for anything, someone who would go up against the king of serpents with him, someone like Neville.

Speak of the Devil, and He shall appear, the saying goes, for just then, the door to Harry's flat opened, only to stop halfway as it connected with a large pile of books on the floor.

"Nice to see you've been keeping busy," came Neville's voice as Harry's all-time best friend poked his head in. "Hello, Harry."

"Neville!" Harry said as he shot out of his armchair, rushing over to shake Neville's hand as the boy, now man, squeezed into the room. The two shook hands with broad smiles on their faces. "How have you been, old boy?"

"Smashing, as usual," Neville said happily. "And yourself?"

Harry groaned. "The horrors of stagnation is upon me. I haven't had an interesting case for a week, and it's really starting to get to me..."

"Couple that with Sirius moving out... I pity you, Harry," Neville said sympathetically as he started unblocking the door, getting it open enough to roll a trunk into the room. "But never fear, Neville is here to save the day."

Harry's eyes widened. "You got your license, then?"

"Got it fifteen minutes ago," Neville said with a nod. "Went home, grabbed my packed trunk, and came here." Then, Neville took on an uncertain look. "I mean, if the offer to move in is still-"

"Don't speak nonsense, Neville!" Harry interrupted immediately. "There is a room empty and available right there!" he said, pointing to the second door from the front door. There were a total of five doors in that room, the front door, one leading into the kitchen, the next a door leading into what would become Neville's room, the bathroom, and finally Harry's room. "You are most welcome."

Neville gave a sigh of relief. "Thank you."

As soon as Neville had unpacked properly, Harry had settled into his armchair, considerably more happy now than he had been just a few minutes before, and when Neville came back, they had immediately launched into discussion, for old time's sake.

"My dear Neville," Harry said as they sat on either side of the fire, upon the mantelpiece of which they both had displayed their Orders of Merlin, First Class, "life is infinitely stranger than anything which the mind of man could invent. We would not dare to conceive the things which are really mere commonplaces of existence. If we could fly out of that window hand in hand, hover over this great city, gently remove the roofs, and peep in at the queer things which are going on, the strange coincidences, the plannings, the crosspurposes, the wonderful chains of events, working through generations, and leading to the most outre results, it would make all fiction with its conventionalities and foreseen conclusions stale and unprofitable."

"And yet I am not convinced of it," Neville answered, a smirk playing on his lips, showing that he had missed these talks just as much as Harry had. "The cases which come to light in the papers are, as a rule, bald enough, and vulgar enough. We have in our police reports realism pushed to its extreme limits, and yet the result is neither fascinating nor artistic."

"A certain selection and discretion must be used in producing a realistic effect," Harry remarked. "This is wanting in the Auror report, where more stress is laid, perhaps, upon the platitudes of the magistrate than upon the details, which to an observer contain the vital essence of the whole matter. Depend upon it, there is nothing so unnatural as the commonplace."

Neville smiled and shook his head. "I can quite understand your thinking so," he said. "Of course, in your position of unofficial adviser and helper to everybody who is absolutely puzzled, throughout three continents, you are brought in contact with all that is strange and bizarre. But here..."

Neville reached down and picked up an old copy of the Daily Prophet.

"Let's put it to a practical test. Here's the first heading I see: 'A husband's cruelty to his wife.' There is half a column of print, but I know without reading it that it is all perfectly familiar to me. There is, of course, the other woman, the drink, the push, the blow, the bruise, the sympathetic sister or landlady. The crudest of writers could invent nothing more crude."

"Indeed, your example is an unfortunate one for your argument," Harry said, taking the paper and glancing his eye down it. "This is the Dundas separation case, and, as it happens, I was engaged in clearing up some small points in connection with it. The husband was a teetotaler, there was no other woman, and the conduct complained of was that he had drifted into the habit of winding up every meal by taking out his false teeth and hurling them at his wife, which, you will allow, is not an action likely to occur to the imagination of the average story-teller. Have a cigar, Neville, and acknowledge that I have scored over you in your

example."

He picked up a finely carved ebony box and opened it, revealing a large amount of thin cigars. Neville, who had gotten a taste for tobacco, took one with a sigh.

"Will I ever triumph, thank you," he said as he accepted a snipper from Harry, snipping the end of the cigar, "over you, Harry?" he finished asking, before lighting the cigar.

"You might. You mustn't doubt yourself, however, Neville," Harry said seriously. "It is when we doubt ourselves that our skills are at their worst. It is easier to trust your instincts and then admit that you are wrong, than to doubt yourself and fail miserably."

"I'll take that to heart," Neville said gratefully, puffing on his cigar. "So, do you have any cases on hand just now?" he asked with interest.

"Some ten or twelve," Harry admitted, but sighed, "but none which present any feature of interest. They're important, you see, without being interesting. Indeed, I've found that, outside Hogwarts, it's usually in unimportant matters that there's a field for the observation, and for the quick analysis for cause and effect which gives the charm to an investigation. The larger crimes are apt to be the simpler, because the bigger the crime, the more obvious, as a rule, is the motive."

"Which is why people come to you," Neville concluded. "Because they see the complete opposite."

"Most of them."

They sat in silence for a while. Then, Harry asked, "So, when did you decide to grow a mustache?"

An embarrassed grin appeared on Neville's face as he ran his hand over the chevron mustache on his face.

"Well, Hannah said I'd look good in it."

"Hannah?" Harry asked, raising an eyebrow. "How are things going between you two?"

"Pretty good," Neville said, nodding. "I think I might ask her to marry me soon."

Harry choked on his own spit.

"In... Indeed?" he asked in shock. "You..."

"Oh, I haven't decided yet," Neville said, shaking his head. "I have yet to find a suitable ring. If I find a ring that's perfect for her, then I'll decide to ask her to marry me. With my books selling so well, I can more than afford it."

"Well, deciding whether or not you should propose judging by if you find the right ring, I suppose is a better way to decide, rather than using Divination," Harry reasoned with a nod as he puffed on his pipe.

Neville hummed, and steered the conversation back to what they were talking about.

"Anyway, with Voldemort and at least Wormtail after you, how can you live so calmly?" he asked. "I mean, I didn't sense any wards around the building when I entered."

"Of course you didn't sense them, you meant me no harm," Harry said, chewing on his pipe. "But had you meant to harm me... Oh, you would have felt it. It always shocks Scrimgeour whenever he arrives, because in the back of his head, he wants to at least punch me."

–

"Oh, Neville!" Harry called, shaking Neville out of his thoughts as he stood outside a jeweler in Diagon Alley, staring through the window at the engagement rings there. Neville looked up to see his friend approaching, still dressed in the same manner as he did back in school, whereas Neville had switched to a brown check Harris Tweed high-revers lounge suit, single-breasted slip-on waxed overcoat, and a double stiff collar shirt with stud, though still sporting his high crown brown bowler.

"Harry," Neville greeted, nodding. "What's the hurry?"

"Oh, no hurry, old boy, no hurry at all," Harry said with a smile. "I merely got a new case, and could use some company. Would you mind coming with me?"

Neville reached into his pocket and fished out a pocket watch. "I have about an hour."

"That is more than enough," Harry said, abruptly grabbing Neville's arm, and a second later Neville felt himself in a side-along Apparition with Harry.

They appeared in front of the London Zoo. Two men in Auror robes stood outside the entrance, which had a sign that told visitors that they were closed, and Neville felt magic course through him as they approached, probably a Muggle-repelling ward. The two Aurors nodded to Harry as they made their way inside.

"So, a murder, then?" Neville asked, and Harry nodded.

"Indeed, a most peculiar murder. After reading Auror Shacklebolt's report, I found myself intrigued, and decided to come here myself to take a look."

They reached the lion pen, where a very tall and broad-shouldered black man stood. He had a very serious look on his face, and a large gold hoop in his left ear.

"Mr. Potter," the man greeted in a slow, deep voice.

"Kingsley," Harry greeted with a nod. "Neville, I'd like you to meet Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt. Kingsley, this is Neville Longbottom, my good friend and chronicler."

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Longbottom," Shacklebolt said, shaking Neville's hand with a strong grip.

"Likewise, Mr. Shacklebolt."

"Please, call me Kingsley. Everyone does."

"So, you believe it was a Killing Curse?" Harry asked as he made his way over to the fence to stare into the lion pen, Neville following. The lion male and three females hadn't been removed from the pen yet, and in the very center of it, on top of a rock that the lion male was pacing restlessly around, was the body of a man, his eyes closed with an expression on his face as if he was sleeping. Neville recognized him, but couldn't quite remember who it was.

"What do you think, Neville?" Harry asked as he took out his wand. He gave it a wave, and the fence split open. Another fence rose from the ground, creating a path over to and around the rock upon which the body lay, and the two made their way over to it. "Killing Curse?"

"The lions haven't eaten the body yet," Neville commented, knowing this was a test. "Although they generally don't like eating meat they haven't taken down themselves, it is usual for them to completely avoid meat when it's available to them. Poison?"

"Very good, Neville."

Neville took out his wand as they reached the body, and cast a Diagnostic Charm. The results told him that, indeed, this man had been poisoned.

"By his expression, I'd say the poison took effect while he slept," Neville guessed, and Harry nodded approvingly. "And judging by how far throughout his body the poison has spread, the time of death occurred approximately two nights ago."

"This is Dedalus Diggle," Kingsley told them, having come up behind them. "The zookeeper came to check on the lions and found him like this just this morning."

"The third..." Harry mumbled to himself, making both Neville and Kingsley lean closer curiously. "This is the third member of the original Order of the Phoenix who has been killed within a single month," he explained, to which they both went wide-eyed. "First Sturgis Podmore, then Emmeline Vance, and now Dedalus Diggle..."

Harry went through the usual motions of poking, prodding, unbuttoning and looking over the body, then the surrounding area. Then, he took out his wand and gave it a wave.

"Everything suggests the use of the Kiss of Death," Neville said, having finished his own inspection. "However, it's an excruciatingly painful poison... How can he look so peaceful?"

"And how could he be asleep in his daywear?" Harry asked, giving off an "Aha!" as he found a quill inside Diggle's coat. "Here we have the Portkey that brought Diggle to his furry little friends. This is a sign, Neville."

Neville blinked in confusion. "The quill?"

"The symbol, the lions!" Harry said impatiently. "Vance was found murdered in her lion-carved bed, Podmore was found next to a lion statue in Edinburgh, and now Diggle in a lion pen. None of them killed there, but brought there. Coincidence? I think not."

"What _do_ you think, then?"

"It's merely a theory," Harry whispered, making sure Kingsley didn't hear them, "but I suspect that the Heir of Slytherin has returned..."

–

"All day the wind had screamed and the rain had beaten against the windows, so that even here in the heart of great, hand-made London we were forced to raise our minds for the instant from the routine of life, and to recognize the presence of those great elemental forces which shriek at mankind through the bars of his civilization, like untamed beasts in a cage. Does that sound good?"

"The Five Orange Pips," Harry said immediately, sitting by the window in 221B Diagon Alley, staring down at the streets below.

"Pardon?" Neville asked.

"You channeled Sir Conan Doyle there," Harry clarified. "That's exactly what he wrote in The Five Orange Pips when he described the weather. I'm amazed you think exactly like him when it comes to writing. Very good, Neville," he said, then turned his gaze back to the window. "Look at that, Neville... Calm... quiet... peaceful... Don't you just hate it?"

Neville looked up from his writing, thinking. "Not really, no. But, then again, my brain is normal."

"That's it," Harry said, rising from his chair and walking toward his room. "I'm going to cross-index my crime records."

When Harry came out of his room, he had a large pile of folders in his hands. Neville sighed as Harry slumped into the armchair next to him in front of the fire.

"Is this all there is to adult life?" Neville asked with a tired sigh. "Doing what we decided to do with our lives, then just sitting at home, waiting to do it?"

"I can see that the boredom is getting a grip of you as well," Harry said with a hum, loading his pipe and lighting it. Then, he blinked. "We have a visitor."

As Harry said, they soon heard footsteps outside the door, and a soft knocking came upon it.

"Come in!" Harry called.

The door opened, to reveal Cornelius Fudge, again wearing that horrible green suit and pinstriped cloak, fiddling with his bowler hat.

"Harry, my boy," he said, putting on a happy smile, but Harry saw right through it. The man was nervous, and looked like he was a bit angry as well. "How good to see you, good to see you..."

"Good afternoon, Minister," Harry said with a nod as he and Neville rose from their chairs. He whipped out his wand, and the chairs spun so that they were facing the settee behind them. "Please, have a seat."

"Oh, thank you, my boy," Fudge said as he sat down in the settee, while Harry and Neville took their usual seats. "Harry... Dumbledore visited me in my office yesterday, and told me something disturbing... He told me that you believe that You-Know-Who has returned to full power... Naturally, I shot it down immediately. Even you wouldn't-"

"It's a theory," Harry interrupted, seeing Fudge grow paler. "Although it's a theory I have yet to prove. I merely think that it would be best to be on our guard, just in case. No need to broadcast it, however. If he really is back, and believes that no one knows about it, then he won't do anything to attract attention to himself."

"You believe that he is back, then?"

"I do, without a doubt," Harry said firmly with a nod. "However, I'm not so foolish so as to try to convince you without concrete evidence to support it."

Fudge gave an audible sigh of relief.

"Thank you, my boy. You have eased many of my concerns, I must say. For a moment there, I thought that Dumbledore might be trying to spread mass-panic."

"I wouldn't rely too much on the headmaster, Minister," Harry said, getting a confused look from Fudge. "With all due respect to Dumbledore, he has a very... odd way of looking at things. He has the firm belief that what he thinks should be done is the only thing that should be done. I don't think he has taken into consideration just, as you said, how the people would panic if you suddenly announced the return of the Dark Lord Voldemort."

Fudge flinched at the name, and Neville took Harry's cigar case, offering Fudge one, which he took gratefully, along with a snipper.

"So, you believe I should put up my guard, but not enough to rouse suspicion?"

"We wait, is what I think," Harry said. "We are dealing with a mastermind, Minister. The greatest schemer of all time, the organizer of every deviltry, the controlling brain of the underworld, a brain which might have made or marred the destiny of nations. He is not one to be trifled with. We wait for him to make the first move. When he does, then you may raise the alarm. But should Dumbledore start announcing the return of Lord Voldemort, then do not outright deny it. Merely say that there are theories that say that he may have returned. Then you won't look like a complete liar if Voldemort reveals himself."

Fudge seemed to be processing this while he puffed on his cigar. The smoke from the various tobaccos mingled in the room, a scent that Harry found to smell quite good.

"Thank you again, Harry," Fudge said as he rose from his seat. He shook hands with both Harry and Neville, and with a friendly "Good-bye!" he left the flat.

–

_The headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix may be found at number twelve, Grummauld Place, London._

"This is the place?" Neville asked as he and Harry stood on a patch of unkempt grass in the middle of a small square. The grimy fronts of the surrounding houses were not welcoming. Some of them had broken windows, glimmering dully in the light from the streetlamps, paint was pealing from many of the doors, and heaps of rubbish lay outside several sets of front steps.

"Looks like it," Harry said with a nod, moving from the patch of grass, across the road, and onto the pavement.

The muffled pounding of a stereo was coming from an upper window in the nearest house. A pungent smell of rotting rubbish came from the pile of bulging bin-bags just inside the broken gate.

"Number eleven..." Harry muttered, pointing at one of the houses with his walking stick, then to the one next to it. "And thirteen..."

"Fidelius?"

Harry nodded and took out his wand, setting the note on fire. They both took a step back in surprise when a battered door suddenly emerged out of nowhere between numbers eleven and thirteen, followed swiftly by dirty walls and grimy windows. It was as though an extra house had inflated, pushing those on either side out of the way. Neville gaped, and looking to Harry he saw a large smile on his friend's face. He never seemed to cease being surprised at just what magic could do.

The two stood in silence for a while, apprehensive. Then, Harry cleared his throat.

"Well, shall we?"

Together, they approached the door, and Harry raised his hand, grabbing the serpent-shaped silver door knocker and knocking twice.

Immediately, the two jumped in surprise when screams erupted from the inside. Neville clutched at his heart, wondering what kind of horrors were taking place inside to create such a noise. Within moments, however, the screaming stopped, and loud, metallic clicks were heard from the door, along with what sounded like the clatter of a chair. Then, the door creaked open, revealing the smiling figure of Sirius Orion Black.

"Harry, Neville!" he whispered in delight, bringing both men in for a one-armed hug. "So good to see you! Come on into the devil's lair, but be quiet."

"The devil's lair?" Harry asked quietly, raising an eyebrow as they both stepped inside.

"It was my mother's," Sirius clarified, to which Harry gave an "Ah" of understanding.

The devil's lair was, in Neville's opinion, an apt description for the house. He could smell damp, dust, and a sweetish, rotting smell, and the place had the feel of a derelict building. Old-fashioned gas lamps were lining the walls, casting a flickering insubstantial light over the peeling wallpaper and threadbare carpet of a long, gloomy hallway, where a cobwebbed chandelier glimmered overhead and age-blackened portraits hung crooked on the walls.

"What was that screaming?" Neville whispered, and Sirius pointed to the portraits, all of which were covered by black curtains.

"Any loud noise, and the old bat goes off," Sirius whispered, clicking his tongue. "We've been trying to get her down since we got here, but we think she put a Permanent Sticking Charm on the back of the canvas. Let's get downstairs, quick, before they all wake up again," Sirius said as he led them through a door from the hall and down a flight of narrow stone steps. They followed him down to the bottom of the stairs and through a door leading into the basement kitchen.

It was scarcely less gloomy than the hall above, a cavernous room with rough stone walls. Most of the light was coming from a large fire at the far end of the room. A haze of pipe smoke hung in the air like battle fumes, through which loomed the menacing shapes of heavy iron pots and pans hanging from the dark ceiling. Many chairs had been crammed into the room as if for a meeting and a long wooden table stood in the middle of the room, littered with rolls of parchment, goblets, empty wine bottles, and a heap of what appeared to be rags. Two redheads, one of whom Neville recognized as the Weasley patriarch, were talking quietly with their heads together at the end of the table. At the other end of the table sat none other than Albus Dumbledore.

"Ah, Harry, Neville!" Dumbledore greeted happily when he saw them. "How are you, boys?"

"Doing well, Professor," Harry said, nodding in greeting.

"Likewise," Neville said, tipping his hat toward the headmaster, who waved them off.

"Oh, come now, you are no longer in school, and are free to call me Albus."

Harry chuckled warmly, but Neville detected a bit of deceit in his chuckle.

"I'm sorry, but I don't think I'm neither old or experienced enough to call you that."

"Dumbledore, then?" Dumbledore suggested, and the two nodded.

"I can try, but I think you'll always be Professor Dumbledore to me," Neville said apologetically.

"So, this is the famous Order of the Phoenix?" Harry asked, clicking his tongue. "I have to admit, your first impression is horrible."

Dumbledore chuckled.

"I admit that we do not look too impressive at the moment, but I assure you that we have many members," he said.

"They won't do it, Albus," Sirius said, shaking his head. "Like I said earlier, they won't."

"Won't what?" Neville asked.

"Join the Order of the Phoenix, of course," Harry said, and Dumbledore nodded, which made Neville's eyes widen. His parents had been part of the Order, and so had his gran. "But I won't join," Harry continued.

"No?" Dumbledore asked, peering at Harry over the rim of his half-moon glasses.

"No," Harry said, then looked to Neville, who felt a little exposed at being stared at by both Harry and Dumbledore.

"Well, I just started my private practice, so I don't know if I'll have the time for it," Neville said carefully, "so I'll have to decline as well."

"I am sorry to hear that," Dumbledore said sadly. "However, boys, it is an open invitation, so if you change your minds, you know where to find us."

"We'll keep that in mind, thank you," Harry said with a nod.

Neville didn't know why, but on the way out, Harry made sure to slam the door extra hard, which made the screaming start inside again.

–

–

**So, what do you think? Like it? Love it? Hate it? ****REVIEW, ****REVIEW, ****REVIEW, ****REVIEW, ****REVIEW, ****REVIEW, ****REVIEW**!


	2. Chapter 2

**Here you go, chapter two! Please leave a review at the door.**

–

"Merlin's beard, you sure can talk," Neville muttered to himself, though he was sure Harry heard it, sitting only a few feet away, as he worked on his next book, retelling how Harry was talking to one of his clients without pause.

"I am not so modest that I cannot admit to loving the sound of my own voice," Harry said, loading his pipe. He was now clean-shaven, as he now had a magic razor, which gave him an extremely smooth shave without him needing to hold it.

"Hey, I have a question, which has bothered me, and some of my readers," Neville said, scratching his head. "You said in your notes..." Neville paused as he rose from his chair, moving over to his trunk. He opened it and dug through it, fishing out a roll of parchment, unfurling it and reading it. "Ah, here we go. You said that Dumbledore said that you must have shown him true loyalty down in the Chamber, or Fawkes wouldn't have shown up. But, you-"

Harry held up his hand, stopping Neville.

"Those are questions you don't want to ask, Neville. It is a road at the end of which you won't find a happy ending. Just leave it."

Puzzled by this statement, Neville sat down again and took a cigar offered to him by Harry. He went back to working on The Red-Headed League, but found that he was unable to work properly, Harry's words stuck in his head. What did he mean by that?

"Don't dwell on it, Neville. Just forget about it and move on," Harry said, picking up today's copy of the Daily Prophet, looking through it.

"Mr. Potter?"

"Kingsley!" Harry greeted happily as they both looked back, seeing Kingsley at the door.

"Sir, Madam Bones requests that you come with me right away," Kingsley said.

Harry smiled.

"Another trivial case?"

"No, sir. It's, uh, a rather strange case, sir..."

"Strange, eh?" Harry asked happily as he stood, grabbing his frock coat and hat. "Come, Neville, there is work to be done. What are the facts, Kingsley?"

"The victim, a Mr. Donald Remington, was found in Knockturn Alley five hours ago," Kingsley said, reading out of his notebook. "There is no trace of poison, nor was there any magical residue on the victim's body, so we have honestly no idea what killed him. Other than that, well... it appears that the victim's manhood has been cut off, sir."

Both Neville and Harry froze in their tracks and looked at each other, blinking.

"His what was _what_?" Neville asked in shock.

"I could hardly believe it myself," Kingsley said, clearing his throat, obviously uncomfortable with the very thought of the fate that befell the poor man.

"Well then," Harry said, clearing his throat also, "lead the way, then, Kingsley," he said as they came out into the street of Diagon Alley. Both of them grabbed Kingsley's arms, and with a sharp crack, the three of them disappeared.

They reappeared in a dark side-alley of Knockturn Alley, which had been closed off by two other Aurors. Harry and Neville passed them with a nod and moved over to the body. The body was a tall young man, around the age of thirty. He was well but quietly dressed in gray robes, although he wore nothing from the waist down, where it could clearly be seen that his manhood had been, as Kingsley said, cut off, both scrotum and penis.

"Well," Harry said as he looked over the body, "there's something you don't see every day."

Neville blinked once... twice... The body was still there. He watched as Harry moved over to the body with his lens, looking it over. He started unbuttoning, poking, prodding, sniffing here and then, the victim's mouth and hands, among other things. Snapping out of his shock, Neville moved over and cast a Diagnostic Charm on the body, humming.

"Despite what Kingsley said, there is a faint trace of magic on the body," Neville said. "Burn marks around his eyes suggests a high level of magic directed at him, though again, there's no magical residue on neither scene nor body. Poison?"

"Looks like," Harry said. "Though it wasn't injected, ingested, or entered through other... unpleasant means," he said, nodding at the wound.

"The wound has been burned shut, and it was not the shock that killed him... nor was it, in fact, anemia..." Neville mumbled, humming. "This truly is a curious case, isn't it?"

"Curious, but not unsolvable," Harry said simply as he rose to his feet, looking to the Aurors. "Alright, lads, we need the body brought to 221B Diagon Alley for the autopsy."

"The what?" one of the Aurors asked, making Harry sigh.

"Just do it."

And so later, the two found themselves back in their flat. On the dinner table lay the dead body, now stripped completely, his chest cut open, revealing his internal organs to Harry and Neville, who were inspecting the body.

"Liquid in the lungs," Neville commented, withdrawing a strange, blueish-purple liquid from the man's lungs with a pipette. He sniffed it, and immediately recoiled. "Yes, definitely poison. But how...?"

"'Tis a rare poison indeed," Harry said, taking the pipette and pouring the poison into a vial and corking it. "As you can see from the hundreds of scabs on the man's body, which are, in fact, not scabs, the poison entered his bloodstream through his pores, corroding the blood vessels, forcing them to burst, which would have made him bleed to death, if not for the significant damage to the lungs and heart. If you open it up, I think you will find, my dear Neville, the same poison in his right and left ventricles."

"I've read about this poison, originating in Japan, if my memory serves," Neville said, humming. "The Toxic Blood Spell. But there was much too little blood spatter on the scene for him to have died there."

"And there was no blood around the groin area on the scene, nor was his manhood anywhere to be seen," Harry said as he inspected the man's thigh. "Partial handprint in blood on the thigh. A perfectly manicured hand, a rich man, who has never done a day's worth of hard labor in his life. And what's this?"

Harry grabbed for something on Remington's thigh and held it up to the light, sniffing it.

"A hair," Harry explained to the wondering Neville. "My, my, I must say, I was spot on in my guess... Sew him up, Neville, there is nothing more we can find in him."

Neville did as he was told, and the Aurors were called in to remove the body.

"Sir," Kingsley said from the door. "We went to the victim's house, and you were right, the murder happened there."

"Was the victim's manhood anywhere to be seen?"

"No, sir."

"A trophy collector, then," Harry said, pocketing his lens. "I never took him for one of those..."

"You know who the criminal is, sir?" Kingsley asked, and Harry nodded.

"There is only one man I know with foot and a half-long platinum hair, and enough money to buy the Toxic Blood Spell."

"Lucius Malfoy?" Neville asked, the Galleon dropping right away. "You mean to say that Lucius Malfoy did this?"

"Yes," Harry said as he watched the Aurors re-dressing the body and levitating it out of the house. "Clearly done in a fit of jealousy. He poisoned Remington, but made sure that he was alive when he emasculated him."

"That's sick."

"That's a Malfoy," Harry reasoned with a shrug.

–

_**LUCIUS MALFOY ARRESTED! POTTER DOES IT AGAIN!**_

"This makes for a nice short story," Neville said with a chuckle as he and Harry sat in their flat. "But in all seriousness, you told me that there were questions I didn't want answered yesterday."

Harry, who had also been reading the Daily Prophet, sighed and put it down. "And I also told you to drop it, didn't I?"

"So you did, but those are questions I do want answered."

"Very well," Harry said as he loaded his pipe and lit it. He puffed on it a few times, and then said, "Imagine a prophecy, a self-fulfilling prophecy, of a boy being marked by the Dark Lord as his equal. Imagine that this child is the only reason that Lord Voldemort can't be killed, because one of them must kill the other. Now, imagine a certain seemingly omniscient headmaster being told this prophecy."

Neville blinked. "So, there was a prophecy about you, told to Dumbledore?"

"Yes. I had a lot of things to think about regarding Sirius Black, that I didn't at all think about that when I was told about it. I blundered, Neville, which is, I'm afraid, a more common occurrence than anyone would think who only knew me through your stories. The fact is that I could not believe that the great Albus Dumbledore could ever lie. However, in these three years after school, I have been thinking hard about it. Dumbledore was the one who cast the Fidelius Charm on my parents' house."

Neville's eyes widened. "And for a Fidelius Charm, the caster must give the secret to the Secret-Keeper..."

"So, Dumbledore must have known that Sirius was the Secret-Keeper all that time," Harry said. "Now, the question is: to what end did he conceal that information? Did he want me to stay with the Dursleys and come to Hogwarts a broken, beaten boy who was easy to mold into a weapon? Did he want a sacrificial lamb? Did he want to study me? That is the question I have yet to answer..."

"I can't believe Dumbledore would do something like that..." Neville muttered, his fists clenched.

"You believe me?" Harry asked, and Neville nodded.

"You befriended me when no one else would. You taught me to stand up for myself, you taught me how to fight, how to believe in myself... You made me the man I am today, Harry. If I had a choice between believing Dumbledore or you, it's you."

Harry sat, frozen for a while. Then, he smiled.

"Thank you, Neville. That means a lot to me. It really does," he said, nodding, while Neville went back to his writing.

–

_That night, Harry had a dream stranger than he had ever had before. He was standing in a dark, curtained room lit by a single branch of candles. His hands were clenched on the back of a chair in front of him. They were long-fingered and white as though they had not seen sunlight for years and looked like large, pale spiders against the dark velvet of the chair. Beyond the chair, in a pool of light cast upon the floor by the candles, knelt a man in black robes._

"_I have been badly advised, it seems," Harry said in a high, cold voice that pulsed with anger._

"_Master, I crave your pardon..." the man kneeling on the floor croaked. The back of his head glimmered in the candlelight. He seemed to be trembling._

"_I do not blame you, Rookwood," Harry said in that cold, cruel voice._

_He relinquished his grip upon the chair and walked around it, closer to the man cowering upon the floor, until he stood directly over him in the darkness, looking down from a far greater height than usual._

"_You are sure of your facts, Rookwood?" Harry asked._

"_Yes, My Lord, yes... I used to work in the department after... after all..."_

"_Avery told me Bode would be able to remove it."_

"_Bode could never have taken it, Master... Bode would have known he could not... Undoubtedly that is why he fought so hard against Malfoy's Imperius Curse..."_

"_Stand up, Rookwood," Harry whispered._

_The kneeling man almost fell over in his haste to obey. His face was pockmarked. The scars were thrown into relief by the candlelight. He remained a little stooped when standing, as though halfway through a bow, and he darted terrified looks up at Harry's face._

"_You have done well to tell me this," Harry said. "Very well... I have wasted months on fruitless schemes, it seems... But no matter... We begin again, from now. You have Lord Voldemort's gratitude, Rookwood..."_

"_My Lord... yes, My Lord," Rookwood gasped, his voice hoarse with relief._

"_I shall need your help. I shall need all the information you can give me."_

"_Of course, My Lord, of course... anything..."_

"_Very well... you may go. Send Avery to me."_

_Rookwood scurried backward, bowing, and disappeared through a door._

_Left alone in the dark room, Harry turned toward the wall. A cracked, age-spotted mirror hung on the wall in the shadows. Harry moved toward it. His reflection grew larger and clearer in the darkness... A face whiter than a skull... red eyes with slits for pupils..._

"NOOOOOOOOO!"

Harry shot up in his bed, drenched in sweat. Within seconds, Neville burst into his room, wand ready, looking like he was steeled for taking on a dozen enemies. Then, he saw Harry and rushed over.

"Harry!" he yelled as he put a hand, which felt cold as ice, against Harry's forehead. "You're burning up..."

"I had..." Harry gulped. He had never felt this shaken before. "I had a nightmare... or... a vision, or something...

"Or an hallucination, judging by your fever," Neville muttered, running his wand over Harry. "Well, I take that back, it's not fever. It's something Dark. It's... It's retreating to your scar..."

"Are you, perhaps, digging into it with a knife?" Harry asked thickly, hardly able to speak.

"No..."

"Because that's what it feels like..."

"I think there's more to your scar than Dumbledore's told you," Neville said, now sounding like he completely believed Harry in regards to that. Harry nodded.

"So I have thought for a long time. It appears that I can see out of Voldemort's eyes," Harry muttered as he put up his Occlumency shields. "Maybe he can see out of my eyes as well? Dumbledore slipped a bit, I think, at the end of our fifth year. He said that Voldemort poured a bit of himself into me when his attack failed."

"Are you thinking...?"

"I think we need to consult an old book of mine..."

The two got dressed and headed out into the sitting room, and Harry started digging through his old trunk. He pulled out a leatherbound book that was so old that the title was indiscernible from age. He set it down on the coffee table in front of the settee and sat down, opening it, with Neville sitting next to him, one puffing on a pipe and the other smoking a cigar.

"Here we are," Harry said after flipping through the book, which was filled with Dark Magicks of all kinds. "'A Horcrux is a very powerful object in which a wizard or witch has hidden a fragment of his or her soul for the purpose of attaining immortality. Creating a single horcrux allows one to gain the ability to resurrect themselves if their body is destroyed, but the more horcruxes one creates, the closer one is to achieving true immortality. Creating multiple Horcruxes is, however, very costly to the creator, by both diminishing their humanity and even physically disfiguring them. It is possible to put the wizard or witch's soul back together, but it is excruciatingly painful.'"

"A Horcrux?" Neville asked. "He made you into a Horcrux?"

"I think he was intending on making one, or perhaps another, on the night when he murdered my parents and tried to murder me. When the attack backfired, perhaps a piece of his soul latched onto me?"

"Does it say how one destroys the Horcrux?" Neville asked. Harry hummed and kept reading.

"'Horcruxes can also be destroyed by others, seeing as the piece of the soul depends upon its container to survive, the opposite of a human being. Destruction of a Horcrux is difficult, but not impossible, and requires that the receptacle to be damaged completely beyond physical or magical repair. When a Horcrux is damaged to this point, it may appear to 'bleed' and a scream may be heard as the soul fragment perishes. It is unknown if the creator of the Horcrux will be able to sense that his soul."

"The diary!" Neville proclaimed. "It screamed and bled when I stabbed it with the Basilisk fang!"

"Well, there we have the proof of everything: Voldemort's Horcrux, my being one, Dumbledore's grand plan for me... and the tool to destroy them..."

Both Harry and Neville's gazes went up to the mantelpiece where, between their Orders of Merlin, hung a souvenir, a fang taken from the basilisk that Harry had killed.

"So, Dumbledore's grand scheme is... what, for you to kill yourself?" Neville asked, getting a shrug from Harry.

"Something like that, no doubt."

"Hey, those dreams you've been having...?"

"Yeah, they're probably Voldemort's thoughts. He wants what's behind that door," Harry said, then slapped his hand to his forehead. "And now he's angry about something..."

"Where did you get this book, by the way?" Neville asked, gesturing for the old tome. "I don't think Flourish & Blotts sells-"

"Best not to ask, Neville," Harry said, clearing his throat. "Then you won't have to lie if someone asks about it..."

–

_Many times, I have seen my friend sitting in front of the fire, just staring into it as his thought process worked at full speed, but now, he looked more focused than ever. His knees were drawn up to his nose, and there he sat with his eyes fixed on the fire and his black clay pipe thrusting out like the bill of some strange bird. Then, he suddenly sprang out of his chair with the gesture of a man who has made up his mind and emptied his pipe into the fire._

"They are holding Malfoy's trial today," Harry spoke abruptly, putting on his frock coat. "Would you like to join me and watch?"

"Well, certainly," Neville said, nodding. "But, Harry, shouldn't we have been called as witnesses to the trial?"

Harry gave a bark of laughter, holding the front door open for Neville.

"Rich pureblood, my dear Neville," he said, patting Neville on the back as he passed. "He pulled some strings, and because we 'desecrated' the body, our testimony isn't considered valid. Only Kingsley's testimony is."

"And even though they found the man's manhood inside Malfoy Manor, he's still going to walk free," Neville said, descending the stairs and out into the street of Diagon Alley.

With a crack, they both disappeared.

"Have you heard anything from Hermione?" Harry asked as they appeared in an alley between a pub and a shabby-looking office. Neville's nose scrunched up at the smell coming from an overflowing dumpster in the alley.

"Yes," Neville said in disgust. "She's currently with Krum in Bulgaria. He might go with her on her trip."

Harry hummed as the two stepped into a red telephone box.

"Three years, and she's only reached Bulgaria," he said, his eyebrow raised knowingly as he picked up the receiver and started dialing six-two-four-four-two. As the dial whirred smoothly back into place, a cool female voice sounded inside the telephone box.

"Welcome to the Ministry of Magic. Please state your name and business."

"Harry Potter and Neville Longbottom," Harry spoke up, smiling, "here to watch the Malfoy trial."

"Thank you," the voice said. "Visitors, please take the badges and attach it to the front of your robes."

There was a click and a rattle, and two square silver badges slid out of the metal chute where returned coins usually appeared. Neville took his and looked it over. Written on it was Neville Longbottom, Trial Spectator. He pinned it to the lapel of his frock coat as the female voice spoke again.

"Visitors to the Ministry, you are required to submit to a search and present your wand for registration at the security desk, which is located at the far end of the Atrium."

Harry snorted, and Neville knew why. They had been in the Ministry of Magic enough times to not need to register at the security desk anymore.

The floor of the telephone box shuddered. They sank slowly into the ground, into the massive Ministry Atrium.

"The Ministry of Magic wishes you a pleasant day," the woman's voice said as the box stopped and the door opened, allowing them to move out of it.

"Mondays..." Harry muttered as he looked over the crowd. They'd hardly even be able to move through it. "Just as crowded down here as up there."

The two made their way through the crowd across the highly polished, dark wood floor, through the large gates into the smaller hall beyond, where at least twenty lifts stood behind wrought golden grilles. Neville and Harry joined the crowd around one of them.

With a great jangling and clattering, a lift descended in front of them. The golden grille slid back and Neville and Harry moved inside it with the rest of the crowd. By the time the elevator reached the Department of Mysteries, as the floor was called, the lift was empty, and Neville and Harry hurried down the long, dark corridor.

"Hold it," Harry said, suddenly stopping. Neville stopped as well and looked around at him. "I've seen this place before... This is the corridor I've been dreaming of..."

"This?" Neville asked, looking around with a hum.

"Voldemort wants what's behind that door," Harry said, pointing at a plain, black door at the end of the corridor.

"Well... What's behind the door?" Neville asked. Harry stared at the door for a few moments, then abruptly turned and headed down another corridor to the left.

"No idea," he said calmly. "Now, courtroom ten, courtroom ten..."

Harry didn't have to look, as just then a door further down the corridor opened, and about fifty witches and wizards, all wearing plum-colored robes, came out, murmuring amongst themselves, most of them looking very unhappy.

"Oh, we missed it," Harry said sadly. "We missed the death of justice."

One or two of the passing wizards nodded to Harry as they passed, and a few, including Madam Bones, said, "Good day, Mr. Potter," to Harry, but most averted their eyes. The last ones to leave were Cornelius Fudge, Lucius Malfoy, and Dumbledore.

"Ah, Harry, Neville!" Dumbledore spoke up when he spotted them. "What brings you two down here?"

"We merely came to see if justice would be served," Harry said with a smile as he looked over Malfoy, who was glaring daggers at him. "I see that it didn't."

"Oh, come now, Harry," Fudge said raising his hands. "No need to be so hostile. We all carefully looked over the evidence, or lack thereof, and had to clear him."

"That's right, Potter, no evidence against me," Malfoy said slickly, but there was no mistaking the venom in his tone. "This childish grudge you seem to have against me shouldn't get in the way of justice. Now, Minister, shall we head to your office?" he asked the Minister, smoothing the front of his robes, and Neville heard the gentle clinking of what sounded like a full pocket of gold.

"Certainly," Fudge said, and with a nod to Harry and Neville, he walked off. "This way, Lucius."

"Greed," Harry muttered as he watched the two walking away. "Man's greatest weakness."

–

**So, what do you think? Like it? Love it? Hate it? ****REVIEW, ****REVIEW, ****REVIEW, ****REVIEW, ****REVIEW, ****REVIEW, ****REVIEW**!


	3. Chapter 3

**Here you go, chapter three! Sorry for the short chapters. Please leave a review at the door.**

–

"Alright," Harry said, clapping his hands together as he stood in front of a blackboard he had recently purchased, which had several names on it. Harry raised a piece of chalk. "Stay with me now, Neville," he said and cleared his throat, drawing arrows from name to name. "We have Dumbledore, who has earned the allegiance of the Order of the Phoenix, an order which has members that also work for Fudge. Fudge is loyal to good, but most of his loyalty is to money, money which Malfoy has, thus linking him to the Malfoy family, which is loyal to Voldemort, who has the allegiance of the Death Eaters."

"And then there's us," Neville said, "a rookie Healer and a consulting detective who makes it a habit to make enemies out of everyone he meets..."

"I'm not that bad," Harry said, blinking, "am I?"

"Well," Neville said as he scratched the back of his head, "your people skills could use some work."

Harry hummed in thought as a post owl swooped into the flat through the window, carrying a large basket, which it dropped into Neville's lap, startling him, while the owl itself landed on the blackboard, allowing Harry to untie the piece of parchment on its leg.

"'Dear Harry and Neville,'" he read out after he unrolled the parchment. "'Crookshanks doesn't seem to like Bulgaria at all, and Russia would only make it worse for him. I don't think he likes the cold, so could you two take care of him for the duration of my trip? I'd send him to my parents, but I figured you might want the company, Harry, if Neville isn't there yet.'"

"Well, well, Crookshanks!" Neville said happily as he opened the basket, allowing the cat out. Crookshanks immediately leapt to the floor and went exploring.

"Well then," Harry said as he wrote something down on the back of the parchment and tied it to the leg of the owl, sending it off again. "It would appear that our team now consists of a rookie Healer, a consulting detective, a genius cat, and a brilliant owl. Neville, my boy, you forgot to include Hedwig in our little team."

Had Hedwig not been out hunting, Neville was sure she'd be hooting angrily at him.

"Something doesn't add up, though," Harry said as he started pacing the room, his chin on his chest. "If you were Voldemort, and wanted to keep a low profile, why send warnings to men who could figure them out?"

Neville hummed. That _was_ strange.

"In fact, if it wasn't for the fact that I've seen through his eyes, I would believe it was all just a ruse..." Harry said as he continued pacing. Crookshanks, done exploring, jumped up in Neville's lap and watched Harry along with Neville.

Harry was muttering to himself as he paced. For about the whole evening he paced, skipping dinner entirely. Then, at around nine o'clock, while Neville was reading through a file labeled 'Fleur Delacour,' which featured several newspaper clippings, Harry suddenly froze.

"A Healer, a detective, a cat... and an owl..." he said slowly. Then, he gave off a cry of triumph and rushed over to the blackboard, picking up a piece of chalk and drawing a large question mark in one of the corners. "A fourth party, Neville!"

"A fourth?" Neville asked, raising an eyebrow. "And who might that be?"

"That is the question, isn't it?" Harry's face was alight with excitement. "Neville, a fourth player in this game of shadows, this is a major discovery!"

Neville sighed and closed the file he was reading, putting it down.

"Are you sure you're not reading too much into this?"

"It all adds up," Harry said. "Someone wanted me to figure out that Voldemort was back," he said, pacing back and forth once again. "This person killed those three, not Voldemort, placed those bodies around Gryffindor symbols, knowing that I would make the connection to Slytherin, thus revealing Voldemort's resurrection, and keeping my attention away from them... That's brilliant..."

"Hey, Harry," Neville said, feeling a need to distract Harry _before_ he started thinking about this. He held up the file. "What's with this?"

"Oh, just newspaper clippings. Fleur has had a busy last three years," Harry said, waving him off.

"Her name isn't in any of them."

"Of course not. I haven't been called in to track her down, after all," Harry said with a smile. "I have saved every article on every theft with her signature on it, should the authorities ever ask me to hunt her down. Madame Delacour has become a quite skilled little thief since she graduated. I guess the theft of her friend's ring lit a fire inside her."

"She's a thief?" Neville asked in disbelief, only for Harry to confirm it with a hum and a slow nod. "But like I said, her name is nowhere in here."

"But her signature is clear," Harry said, then added at Neville's confused face, "Oh, Neville, please don't make me explain her methods, or we'll be here all day."

Neville nodded in agreement, knowing he probably wouldn't see the pattern even if it was explained to him. Then, he realized what Harry said.

"Wait, you plan on going out?"

"I do," Harry said with a nod. "And you're coming with me."

–

The door to the Vance home slowly creaked open, and the smell of stale air immediately hit Neville's nose as he and Harry stepped inside. Emmeline Vance's house was a quite cozy little two-floored building, and Harry immediately headed up the stairs, not allowing Neville to get a good look at the dark hallway. On the second floor, however, the hallway was adorned in flowery wallpapers, with three doors. Harry entered the closest door, and Neville followed him into Miss Vance's bedroom.

"Ah-hah!" Harry said triumphantly as they entered the once cozy bedroom, which still had the stench of death in it. He pointed to the bed, which had several majestic lions carved into the headboard. Now, however, there were more carvings on the headboard. "The perpetrator has been here after the body was buried!"

Lighting his wand, he held it up to the headboard, and Neville saw, carved into it, a long series of strange stick figures, carved in a hieroglyphic manner.

"Copy down the hieroglyphs, Neville," Harry ordered as he took out his magical lens, looking over the bed, then the floor, then out of Neville's view as the Healer lit his own wand, copying down the stick figures into his notebook. Some were identical, leading Neville to believe that it was an alphabet, and some were holding flags, but all of them were doing some form of dance. There were seven different characters, set up in a row of eight characters, but Neville could make no sense of it.

"Done," Neville said once he had finished the flag on the final character. "What have you found?"

"Nothing," Harry said, his tone one of excitement. "Absolutely nothing. Now, let us leave this place."

With that, the two Apparated right out of the Vance house, finding themselves back outside 221B Diagon Alley.

"So, what do we have now?" Harry asked as the two made their way into the building and up the stairs to their flat. "We have Voldemort, who wants whatever is behind that door in the Department of Mysteries, and we have a Sherlock Holmes fan."

"Holmes?" Neville asked, blinking as they went inside their flat, taking off their coats. "What do you mean?"

"The hieroglyphs, Neville, the Dancing Men," Harry explained. "Whoever carved those into the headboard wanted me to find them. They knew I would know what they mean."

"Well, what do they mean?" Neville asked, taking out his notebook and looking it over, only to have it snatched out of his hand by Harry, who flipped the blackboard and started copying them onto it.

"The flags are used to break the sentences up into words," Harry explained calmly as he started writing underneath the message. This one, arms spread out and a leg stuck out, holding a flag, represents _I_. By that logic, the following word, two characters, is '_am_,' followed by five characters, wherein the second letter is _E_, and the third _A_."

Harry gazed intently at the message, then hummed.

"Well, in that case, if it's following what has been done in the Dancing Men, then that would be a _D_, a _T_, and an _H_."

"'_I am death_?'" Neville asked, raising an eyebrow. Harry nodded slowly. Flipping the blackboard again, he erased the large question mark he had earlier written and instead wrote _Death_. "So, not only do we have to deal with the corrupt Ministry, the manipulative Dumbledore, and the maniacal Voldemort, but we also have to deal with this new Death character?"

"Indeed," Harry said, slowly backing away from the blackboard and slumping into his armchair, taking his pipe and loading it with the strongest, black tobacco. He lit it and puffed on it slowly, while Neville helped himself to a cigar, lighting it and staring at the blackboard.

–

The next day, Harry, who had fallen asleep in his armchair, his violin across his lap, was awoken by a cracking noise. He shot up in his seat and looked over toward the source of the sound, to find none other than Fleur Delacour sitting on the settee, cracking walnuts.

"Bonjour," Fleur said with a small smile at Harry's half-awake, confused expression. "England is so bleak zis time of year, don't you think?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. She got up to cross the room to the kitchen, and only once her back was turned did Harry shoot to his feet, crossing over to his concealed safe behind a painting. He tested the door to make sure it was still locked. It was. Fleur came back out of the kitchen holding a tray with tea, dried fruit, olives, and such on it.

"I brought you a few souvenirs," Fleur said happily. "Dates from Jordan, tea from Ceylon, and olives from Cyclades. I zought we could 'ave a little tea party to cheer us up. And while I was preparing ze tea, I found zis," she said as she picked a file up from the table. "Zeft of Bulgarian Minister's wife's diamond jewelry... The Ma'arajah's diamond ring gone missing... My name is on ze file, yet I don't see my name in any of zese."

"Amazing how even you don't recognize your own signature," Harry said, picking up a green olive and sniffing it, before eating it. "Why are you here?"

"Can I not come by and say 'ello to an old boyfriend?" Fleur asked, her eyebrow rising slowly.

"You can," Harry admitted, "but you don't do such things. So why are you here?"

"I came to deliver a warning," Fleur admitted. "As you know, I now 'ave some connections in ze criminal underworld..."

Harry grunted.

"...and zere is much talk. Talk of You-Know-'Oo rising, talk of a new player. 'Ave you ever 'eard of ze name Moriarty?"

"Of course I have," Harry said, much to Fleur's obvious surprise. "He's a fictional character in a series of books that I own, a villain. Why?"

"I am not talking about a fictional character, 'Arry," Fleur said. "I 'ave 'eard zings said about a man 'oo calls 'imself Moriarty, among other things. I see you 'ave already 'eard of another one of his aliases," she said and gestured for the blackboard.

"Death?" Harry asked, and Fleur nodded.

"'E is a powerful man in ze underworld," she said gravely. "Almost everyone answer to 'im."

"Why are you telling me all this?" Harry asked.

"Isn't it obvious?" Fleur said. "Contrary to what you might zink, I 'ave no wish to see you 'urt."

"Is that why you left me in Paris to take the blame for stealing the French Minister's diamond earrings?" Harry asked, a muscle under his eye twitching slightly at the memory of how he had waited in their hotel for her, only to get arrested by a group of French Aurors. Fleur just waved him off.

"Zat was a bit of fun. I knew zey would release you when zey found out 'oo you were. Zis is different, 'owever. Zis is serious."

"So you came all this way just to warn me?" Harry asked, tilting his head to the side. "I should be flattered, but somehow I sense that you have an ulterior motive."

"You weren't always zis suspicious," Fleur said, looking hurt.

"I didn't always have a reason to be," Harry countered seriously. "And you have no idea what this person's real identity is?"

"Not a clue."

Harry hummed, and Fleur rose from the settee.

"Believe it or not, 'Arry, but I do still care about you. I want you to be careful. Moriarty isn't a man to be taken lightly," she said, her soft eyes gazing down at him, almost making him melt right there. Nonetheless, he rose as well, his face stoney.

"Neither am I."

For a good few minutes, they stared into each other's eyes. Then, Fleur turned and walked off toward the front door, passing Neville in the doorway, nodding to him in greeting. Neville nodded back, then did a double take and looked back.

"Harry," he spoke, blinking as he stared out the door. "Was that...?"

"It was," Harry confirmed as he ate another olive. They really were good.

After the two had sat down and made themselves comfortable, Harry told Neville about what Fleur had warned him about. Neville listened intently, and when Harry was done, his finger tips pressed together, Neville sighed.

"So, this Moriarty character... Why would he pick a name like that?"

"Perhaps he's muggle born?" Harry suggested. "What better name for the uncrowned king of the criminal underworld?"

"And you said she seemed intimidated?"

"For a second, she looked like she thought she might be killed for merely giving me the warning," Harry said, lowering his chin onto his chest.

–

"Well, I don't know what Dumbledore's plan for you is," Sirius said as he sat on the settee in front of Neville and Harry the following day, "but I do know that he doesn't want you to find out more than you need to know. Rubbish, though, I say. You're old enough, and have been through more than anyone else in the Order of the Phoenix, so you should be told the truth."

Crookshanks hopped up and curled up in Sirius' lap, purring happily as Harry pressed his fingertips together, humming.

"Tell me, then, what has the Order been doing?"

"Well, Voldemort is building up his army again," Sirius said. "In the old days, he had huge numbers at his command... witches and wizards he'd bullied or bewitched into following him, his faithful Death Eaters, a great variety of Dark creatures. Among other things, he's going to recruit the giants, as he's certainly not going to try and take on the Ministry of Magic with only a dozen Death Eaters."

"So you're trying to stop him getting more followers?"

"We're doing our best."

"Not going very well, eh?" Neville asked, seeing right through Sirius, who chuckled.

"Not so far as we know. The goblins are neutral, probably, and the werewolves prefer Voldemort over the Ministry. Hagrid is off to see the giants, but we haven't gotten any word from him yet.

"We have also been trying to subtly persuade people that Voldemort is back, and trying to get some new recruits. Among others, we have Moody, and Aurors Kingsley Shacklebolt and Nymphadora Tonks. But strangely enough, Voldemort doesn't seem to be Dumbledore's biggest concern at the moment. One of our members, Mundungus Fletcher, has a lot of connections in the dirtier corners of the world, and he's talking about some new threat, who-"

"Moriarty," Harry interrupted, making Sirius blink.

"You've heard of him?"

Harry hummed in confirmation.

"So now we're also trying to dig up some information on this Moriarty character. It's not going too well, though. He's at the very top of the criminal food chain, and Dung is pretty close to the bottom of it," Sirius said. "Not to mention, things are getting restless in the Ministry, too."

"Why?" Neville asked, snipping the end of a cigar and lighting it.

"Well, Dumbledore isn't too keen on just pretending that Voldemort isn't back," Sirius said, scratching the back of his head. "He's pressuring Fudge to announce Voldemort's return, and Fudge, who has gotten used to the power of being Minister of Magic, isn't reacting well. He has threatened to vote Dumbledore off the Wizengamot if he persists."

"But what's Voldemort doing?" Harry asked. "What is behind that door in the Department of Mysteries that he wants so badly?"

"From what Dumbledore has told us, it's a prophecy," Sirius said, making Neville got wide-eyed, while Harry just hummed again.

"The prophecy!" Neville said, looking to Harry, who nodded.

"You've heard of it?" Sirius asked in surprise. "You know what it says?"

"I do, Dumbledore showed it to me in my sixth year," Harry said, lighting his pipe. "But Voldemort must have already heard the prophecy, or he never would have come for me that day nineteen years ago..." he mumbled as he chewed thoughtfully on his pipe. "Unless... he only heard a part of it, or heard of it... and now he wants to know just why he failed to kill me all those years ago..."

"Either way, all I know is that only the ones the prophecy concerns can touch the prophecy and take it off its shelf. That's why we always make sure to have a guard posted by the door to the Department of Mysteries," Sirius said as he rose from the settee, carefully lifting Crookshanks off his lap and setting the cat down. "Well, boys, I have to go. We're cleaning out the headquarters, and Molly is expecting me to help."

"Take care of yourself, Sirius," Harry said, leading Sirius to the door. "Something dark is coming, I can feel it. With both Voldemort and this Moriarty character out there, none of us are very safe, so be careful."

"You too," Sirius said, and with a nod to the both of them, he left. Harry closed the door after him, and immediately began pacing.

"So?" Neville said, raising an eyebrow as he watched his oldest and best friend pace back and forth. "What are we going to do?"

"_I_ am going to stay here and think," Harry said. "_You_ have an appointment with Hannah, do you not?"

Neville's eyes widened. That was true, he was going to have tea with Hannah and her parents at noon! Shooting out of his armchair, he hurried into his room to dress a bit better.

–

When Neville returned that evening, he found Harry sitting on the floor in front of the fire, his chin against his chest and his pipe hanging from his mouth. The violin was right next to him, telling Neville that Harry had been deep in thought about a lot of things.

"Harry," Neville said, not getting any reaction from his friend. "Have you been in here all day?"

"Yes."

"You haven't gone out?"

"No."

"Dinner?"

"Not hungry."

Neville sighed. Harry could sometimes go days without eating anything if he was too deep in thought. He acted like it didn't bother him, and he probably didn't notice, but not eating weakened both body and magic, and _that_ Neville was sure Harry knew, but just didn't care about.

Rather suddenly, Harry rose from the floor and put on his frock coat and winter coat just as Neville took off his.

"Come along, Neville."

"What?" Neville asked. "Why? I just got home."

"I'll tell you why," Harry said with a smile. "We are going to find some more messages."

–

"Alright, so we have 'You cannot win this game,' carved into the lion statue where Podmore was found, and 'I shall triumph,' carved into the lion pen," Neville said as he looked over the blackboard with the dancing men carved into it. "But what does it all mean?"

"It means simply this: I'm his target," Harry said calmly. "These messages were left at crimes I investigated, carved after the cases were closed, in a code that no wizard would ever understand, especially if the one who wrote it goes by the name of Moriarty. He's taunting me, Neville."

"Is it working?"

"It is."

Harry started pacing back and forth in front of the blackboard, though his eyes never left the words written on it.

"What's his game?" Harry muttered to himself, but Neville heard it. "What does he want? What's the purpose behind his actions? Those are the questions that need answering..."

"Per'aps I can 'elp?" came a beautiful voice, accompanied by a knock on the door. Neville and Harry turned to see Fleur in the doorway, smiling at them.

"What do you want, woman?" Harry asked coldly, but Neville could tell by how his eyes softened that he was happy to see Fleur, who smiled.

"I 'ave some information for you," she said, nodding to Neville. "Bonsoir, Neville."

Neville tipped his hat in greeting.

"Information?" Harry asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I 'ave been doing a little digging regarding zis Moriarty character," Fleur said. "'E 'as considerable influence in not only Britain, but also most of Europe, but the country where 'e 'as ze most influence is Germany."

"Germany?" Neville asked, and Harry's eyes widened in realization.

"Grindelwald..."

–

**So, what do you think? Like it? Love it? Hate it? ****REVIEW, ****REVIEW, ****REVIEW, ****REVIEW, ****REVIEW, ****REVIEW, ****REVIEW**!


	4. Chapter 4

**Here you go, chapter four! Please leave a review at the door.**

–

"It would appear that I was mistaken," Harry said two weeks later, sitting in his armchair, a letter in his hand. "Grindelwald has no connection with the outside world, and he's almost too weak now to even talk."

"So, we still have a problem on that front..." Neville muttered, and Harry nodded.

"Besides, that was a rather large blunder of mine. After all, even if Grindelwald did have contact with the outside world, how would he know so much about me? And why would he even care about a consulting detective?"

"Do you think he knew?"

"Knew that Fleur would look him up? Of course," Harry said. "And so, I kept my focus on Grindelwald for two weeks, allowing Moriarty to operate in peace and quiet... That's brilliant."

Harry ran a hand through his hair, sighing.

"This man is beyond anything I have ever encountered. Where Voldemort rules through fear and stealth, this Moriarty character seems to have earned the loyalty of the dirty underbelly of Europe in so little time..." he murmured as he clapped his hands together, his elbows against his knees and his eyes fixed on the blackboard.

A tapping noise was heard on the window, and Harry glanced at Neville, who got up to open it, allowing an owl to swoop in and drop a package in Harry's lap, then fly out again.

"Harry?" Neville asked as Harry started unwrapping the rather thin package, which was about the size of a book.

As he unwrapped it, his eyes went wider and wider. It was a book that had been sent to him. A Sherlock Holmes book, _The Final Problem_. Cautiously, he opened it up where it was bookmarked by a piece of parchment, which read '_Meet me_.'

"Mr. Moriarty requests a meeting," Harry said as he read the page that had been bookmarked.

_It is, indeed, a fearful place. The torrent, swollen by the melting snow, plunges into a tremendous abyss, from which the spray rolls up like the smoke from a burning house. The shaft into which the river hurls itself is an immense chasm, lined by glistening coal-black rock, and narrowing into a creaming, boiling pit of incalculable depth, which brims over and shoots the stream onward over its jagged lip. The long sweep of green water roaring forever down, and the thick flickering curtain of spray hissing forever upward, turn a man giddy with their constant whirl and clamour. We stood near the edge peering down at the gleam of the breaking water far below us against the black rocks, and listening to the half-human shout which came booming up with the spray out of the abyss._

Harry snapped the book shut and rose from his chair, looking to Neville.

"I will need to got to Switzerland," he said abruptly. "Reichenbach Falls, to be precise."

"I'm coming with you," Neville said as he rose from his seat, but Harry shook his head.

"No, Holmes and Moriarty fought one-on-one at Reichenbach Falls. This is a message telling me that Moriarty wishes to meet me alone. I suspect that he will not show up if you come along.

–

And that was how Harry found himself sitting upon a rock at the top of the Reichenbach Falls, staring down it with a contemplative look on his face. He knew it wasn't a trap, but he also knew that it might have just been a diversion to lure him away from England.

"I'm so glad you could accept my invitation, a deep, elderly voice spoke from behind him, making him whip around with his wand raised. There before him stood an extremely tall and thin man, his forehead doming out in a white curve, and his eyes deeply sunken into his head. He was clean-shaven, pale, and ascetic-looking, his shoulders rounded from much study, and his face protruded forward and was slowly oscillating from side to side in a curiously reptilian fashion.

"Polyjuice," Harry said, nodding at the almost exact copy of Moriarty from the books.

"You will excuse the disguise and my weak voice," Moriarty spoke, giving a small bow at the waist. "The Muggle from whom I took this form has vocal chords that aren't accustomed to English. Did you like them?" he asked, then added at Harry's inquisitive look, "The Dancing Men."

"A nice touch, but easily deciphered," Harry said, nodding.

"As intended. I know you, Mr. Potter. I have studied you for years, ever since I first heard about you. You are a brilliant man, they say, the most brilliant mind since Albus Dumbledore. Oh, you cannot believe how much that irks me..."

"Do I detect jealousy in your voice?" Harry asked politely, but behind his back, he was tightly clutching his wand, ready for anything.

"A touch of it," Moriarty said with a nod. "But that's not what I came all this way to talk to you about. I came to ask you to join me."

"You brought me all the way to Switzerland to ask a question you already knew the answer to?" Harry asked, and Moriarty chuckled.

"You have morals, your little personal code of conduct, your view of right and wrong, Mr. Potter, but at heart, you are just like me. You seek death. You are an adrenaline junkie who isn't satisfied without a good death to put your mind to work. Imagine what we could accomplish together, you and I," Moriarty said, but Harry just clicked his tongue.

"If you knew me so well, you would have known that I was in Gryffindor at school, not Slytherin."

"Seven years is a long time, plenty of time for someone to change, to see the real world," Moriarty spoke with a slight chuckle. "It doesn't matter how many criminals you bring down, Mr. Potter. Thanks to me, the ones that matter will always walk free, no matter how much evidence you have."

Something clicked in Harry's mind.

"Malfoy."

"It is so easy, when you have everyone eating out of your hand," Moriarty said as he looked over the falls. "Corrupt Ministry members, greedy Order of the Phoenix members and Death Eaters alike. It doesn't matter who it is, greed corrupts more than you could ever imagine. Even the venerable Albus Dumbledore once gave into his greed, and his pride..."

"Who are you, really?" Harry asked, only for Moriarty to laugh.

"Now, now, Mr. Potter, do you really think I am going to reveal my identity after going through all the trouble of disguising myself like this?" he asked, but suddenly turned serious in the blink of an eye. "I knew you were going to decline, but I called you here anyway. Why? Because I want to give you a warning."

"Warning?"

"Drop it, Mr. Potter. I brought your attention to the resurrection of Lord Voldemort, and I put you on the trail, but oh, you had to figure out that there was a fourth player in this little game... You had to try to figure out just who it was, so I left you little signs to show you just who I was, to show you that I know you better than anyone, I know your habits, I know everything about you, and I can easily have you killed."

"Then why haven't you already?"

"I don't know," Moriarty said, narrowing his eyes. "It is as if a little voice in the back of my head is telling me to spare your life. You are an eyesore for Voldemort, and that is beneficial to me. Perhaps that is why I haven't killed you yet, but keep in mind that I spared you on a whim, and it is on a whim that I may suddenly change my mind."

"You seek to intimidate me," Harry said, taking a step toward Moriarty. "Let me tell you that it isn't working."

"I hope it does, for if it comes down to a duel between us, and you are clever enough to bring destruction upon me, rest assured that I shall do the same to you!"

–

_Harry dedicated the next five months in a private war against Moriarty, focusing all of his attention on bringing down Moriarty's henchmen, working his way up the food chain. He never told me exactly what he did, but he was called away for weeks sometimes, once by the French government, once by the German, and twice by the Bulgarian government, called in for cases he signed magical contracts of confidentiality on. He even got called in by the Queen, solving a case which got him Knighted for his troubles, though he never told me anything about the cases._

"_Neville!"_

_Harry's call awoke me from my sleep in my armchair, where I had dozed off waiting for my friend to return home that night. From the grandfather clock in the corner of the room, I could see that it was well past midnight, the fire had gone out, and in the doorway stood Sir Harry Potter._

_The last five months had been tough on Harry. He looked thin, hardly ever eating, always focusing on case after case, so that he may catch Mr. Moriarty. Voldemort, Dumbledore and the Ministry seemed to have disappeared from his view, and all he saw was Moriarty._

_The lack of food had left him skinnier than usual, leaving his cheekbones more pronounced, and he had lines in the corners of his eyes. He looked much like Professor Lupin, rather older than his age, although I suppose the age of his looks matched the age of his mind now._

–

"Harry?" Neville asked, seeing his friend striding into the room, a cigarette dangling from his mouth, unlit. "Where on earth have you been?"

"I have been searching, Neville," Harry said as he slumped into his armchair. With a speed he didn't look capable of, he whipped out his wand, and in a second, flames were once more dancing in the fireplace. "Searching high and low, and I believe I have found one."

"One what?" Neville asked, blinking.

"A Horcrux, of course," Harry said as if it was obvious, stunning Neville. So far, he had only been focused on Moriarty, not Voldemort and his Horcruxes, so the fact that he had been searching for them had truly stunned Neville, who could only gape at Harry, who raised an eyebrow. "Surprised?"

"Stunned," Neville said with a nod. "I thought you had completely lost sight of Voldemort."

"So I had, for a moment," Harry said, nodding. "But then, during a considerably long thinking session, I found myself leaving my body, to once more gaze upon the world through Voldemort's eyes. I left him shortly after, however, and ended up staring at Voldemort from the floor, in the form of a snake."

"Voldemort turned a snake into a Horcrux?" Neville asked, blinking. "Somehow, that doesn't surprise me."

The two sat in silence for a while, before Neville spoke again.

"Has the thought of shaving ever crossed your mind?"

Harry ran a hand across his unshaven face.

"Thought about it... Didn't do it."

"Ah."

"Other than the snake, though, I have found nothing..." Harry muttered, lighting his pipe and puffing on it. He twirled his wand, and his armchair rose into the air, spinning to face the blackboard, which had many more arrows drawn on it now, most of them pointing toward Moriarty. "Do you think I should get a haircut?"

"Yes," Neville said with a nod, going along with it. He knew his friend wanted to take his mind off Moriarty and Voldemort. "I think you should cut it a bit shorter. You look a bit like a girl like that."

Harry hummed and waved his wand. Out from the bathroom came a scissor, which immediately started working on cutting his hair as he sat still in the armchair, puffing on his pipe.

When it was done, and his hair was short enough, Harry vanished the scissor and the hair, and a container of Sleekeazy and a comb came flying out of the bathroom next. Using it, Harry slicked back his hair.

"Better," Neville said, nodding. "However, you'd look even better if you shaved.

"I'll do it in the morning," Harry said, now gazing at the blackboard once more. "Get some sleep, Neville. It's late."

"What about you?" Neville asked as he rose from his armchair. Harry hummed.

"I'll go sleep shortly."

"No, you won't."

"No, I won't."

Shaking his head, Neville went into his room to get some sleep.

–

"What are we doing down here?" Neville asked, his voice, even when whispering, echoing through the church-high hall, which was full of nothing but towering shelves covered in small, dusty, glass orbs. They glimmered dully in the light issuing from candle brackets set at intervals along the shelves, their flames burning blue. The room was very cold.

"Last night, I dozed off in front of the fire," Harry whispered, "and I had a most peculiar dream... I saw this place, saw the prophecy orbs, and felt compelled to come get mine."

"We're here to get the prophecy because you dreamed about it?" Neville asked in disbelief. "You cannot be serious..."

"I am," Harry said, "very serious."

"So, amongst these millions upon millions of prophecies, just where are we supposed to find yours? Sniff our way to it?" Neville asked sarcastically.

"Row ninety-seven," Harry said simple.

Neville looked up at the end of the closest row. Beneath the branch of blue-glowing candles protruding from it, the silver figure 53 glimmered. He sighed. This was going to take a while.

They crept forward, down the long alleys of shelves, the farther ends of which were in near total darkness. Tiny, yellowing labels had been stuck beneath each glass orb on the shelf. Some of them had a weird, liquid glow, while others were as dull and dark within as blown lightbulbs.

They passed row eighty-four... eighty-five... The silence was really unnerving Neville. They had passed no guards or anything on their way down, and Neville couldn't help but think that it was some kind of a trap.

"Ninety-seven!" he whispered. They stood grouped around the end of the row, gazing down the alley beside it. "I have a bad feeling about this..."

"You always have a bad feeling," Harry said, waving him off as he led him down the alley, between the towering rows of glass balls, some of which glowed softly as they passed. "It should be somewhere... ah, here we go."

He stepped forward. Not as tall as Harry, Neville had to crane his neck to read the yellowish label affixed to the shelf right beneath the dusty glass ball. In spidery writing was written a date of some twenty years previously, and below that:

_S.P.T. to A.P.W.B.D._

_Dark Lord_

_and (?) Harry Potter_

"What's with the question mark?" Neville asked, scrutinizing the label.

"Trust me, Neville, you don't want to know," Harry said as he reached out, grabbing the orb and taking it off its shelf. Neville moved in closed to Harry, gazing at the orb as Harry brushed it free of the clogging dust.

And then, from right behind them, a drawling voice said, "Very good, Potter. Now turn around, nice and slowly, and give that to me."

Black shapes were emerging out of thin air all around them, blocking their way left and right. Eyes glinted through slits in hoods, a dozen lit wand tips pointing directly at their hearts.

Harry slowly turned around to look at the one who had spoken.

"Malfoy?" he asked in disbelief. "I thought your master was going to be here, or I wouldn't have come."

"You knew it was a trap?" Neville asked, staring at Harry in disbelief, though his wand was trained on the Death Eaters to their left. "You knew, and dragged me along anyway?"

"Would you rather I had gone alone?" Harry asked, raising an eyebrow, and Neville closed his mouth.

"Give me the prophecy," Lucius Malfoy said, holding out his hand.

"You know, I'm surprised to see you in a mess even you can't slither out of if you get caught, Malfoy," Harry said with the tone of a man who was discussing something as trivial as the weather, his body relaxed, while Neville was the complete opposite. His jaw was locked and every muscle in his body was tense.

"But I won't get caught, Potter. See, the Dark Lord knows of your longing for mysteries," Malfoy said silkily, "and that is why he has shown you those dreams. Now, you will give me that prophecy, or I will make sure that you and Longbottom scream your voices raw before you die."

"Longbottom?" a witch to their left asked with a harsh, triumphant laugh. "Well," she said and ripped off her hood, revealing the deranged, gaunt and skull-like face that had plagued Neville's nightmares for so long, Bellatrix Lestrange, "I had the luxury of meeting your parents, boy."

Neville's grip tightened on his wand. He was about to make a move when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Easy, Neville, she's baiting you," Harry said calmly, then looked to Malfoy. "So, if I give you this prophecy, you'll just let us be on our way, then?" he asked with a snort. "Unlikely."

Hardly had the word left his mouth when Bellatrix raised her wand and shrieked, "Accio Proph-"

Harry reacted quickly, raising a Protego shield and blocked the Summoning Charm.

"Oh, he knows how to play, little bitty baby Potter," Bellatrix said, her mad eyes looking from Harry to Neville, then back to Harry again. "Very well, then-"

"NO!" Malfoy roared at her. "If you smash it...!"

"Alright, how about we fight this out for it?" Harry said, subtly waving his wand. The Death Eaters didn't see it, but Neville did. "Shelf."

"What-" was all Malfoy managed to say, before the entire shelf on row ninety-seven fell down on them. Harry and Neville protected themselves with a Protego, but not everyone were so lucky as the shelf came crashing down upon them. As the glass orbs on the shelves smashed against the ground, figures, pearly white as ghosts, fluid as smoke, unfurled themselves from the broken glass, all of them speaking together, making it hard to hear what they were saying.

Neville didn't have time to listen to them, though, as four Death Eaters, including Malfoy and Bellatrix, had managed to shield themselves from getting crushed, and were now rising from the piles of broken glass and wood shelves.

"Roll up you sleeves, Neville," Harry said, pocketing the prophecy and raising his wand.

A four-on-two duel ensued in the mist left by the smokey talking people from the broken prophecies. It was a good thing Harry had taken the time to teach Neville how to fight, he thought as he blocked a Stunner and sent one right back at Bellatrix, who cackled as she danced out of its way. It was also a good thing that he had the 'next Albus Dumbledore' at his side, for when he chanced a glance at Harry, he saw no anger, no stress, no joy, nothing, on his friend's face. Only that same old calculating look as he blocked and countered, attacked and deflected without pause.

Neville, on the other hand, wasn't fairing too well. Fighting five Hogwarts students was one thing, but four Death Eaters? That was a whole other bag entirely.

"Bombarda!" Neville yelled, pointing his wand at Bellatrix, who once more dodged. The spell hit several prophecies in row ninety-four, the only one that hadn't collapsed, sending glass shards flying everywhere. Malfoy gave a cry of pain as a shard of glass dug into his back, and his pause was just enough for Neville to stun him, while Harry juggled Curses and Jinxes with Bellatrix and the other two.

A Stunner and a soundless Incarcerus from Harry had one of the Death Eaters chained up, gagged and unconscious.

Bellatrix seemed to think that now was a good time to retreat, as she turned her back and took off running. Neville, boiling with rage, took off after her.

"Neville!" Harry called after him as he traded spells with the final Death Eater. Neville didn't listen, though. This was probably the first time in his life that Neville didn't do as Harry said. He didn't know why. Maybe because he was so infuriated that his parents' torturer was getting away?

He wrenched open the door into the circular black hall and saw Bellatrix disappearing through a door on the other side of the room. Beyond her was the corridor leading back to the lifts.

He ran, but she had slammed the door behind her and the walls began to rotate again, just as they had when they arrived, and once more he was surrounded by streaks of light from the whirling candelabra.

"Where's the exit?" Neville shouted desperately when the walls came to a halt again. He wasn't going to allow Bellatrix to get away!

The room seemed to have been waiting for him to ask, as the door right behind him flew open, and the corridor toward the lifts stretched ahead of him, torch-lit and empty. He ran...

He could hear a lift clattering ahead of him. He sprinted up the passageway, swung around the corner, and slammed his fist onto the button to call a second lift. It jangled and banged lower and lower, the grilles slid over, and Neville dashed inside, now hammering the button marked Atrium. The doors slid shut and he was rising...

He forced his way out of the lift before the grilles were fully open and looked around. Bellatrix was almost at the telephone lift at the other end of the hall, but she looked back as he sprinted toward her, and aimed a spell at him. He dodged behind the Fountain of Magical Brethren. The spell zoomed past him and hit the wrought gold gates at the other end of the Atrium so that they rang like bells. There were no more footsteps. She had stopped running. He crouched behind the statues, listening.

"_Come out, come out, little Neville_!" Bellatrix called in a horrible mock-baby voice, which echoed off the polished wooden floors. "What did you come after me for, then? I thought you were here to avenge your parents!"

Taking a deep breath, Neville didn't respond to Bellatrix. What _did_ he go after her for? There was no way he could take on Bellatrix Lestrange by himself... Her cackle echoed through the Atrium.

"You've realized it, haven't you, boy?" she cried happily. "You can't beat me! I was and am the Dark Lord's most loyal servant, I learned the Dark Arts from him, and I know spells of such power that you, pathetic little boy, can never hope to compete-"

"Stupefy!" Neville yelled, pointing his wand over the head of the goblin statue.

"Protego!"

The jet of red light, his own Stunner, whizzed past his head, smashing into the golden gates with another bell-like noise booming through the Atrium.

Neville closed his eyes, thinking hard. What was he supposed to do? There was nothing he could do... He-

"Bella," a high, cold voice said, making Neville's heart almost stop in fear. He opened his eyes.

Tall, thin, and black-hooded, his terrible snakelike face white and gaunt, his scarlet, slit-pupiled eyes staring... Lord Voldemort had appeared in the middle of the hall, his wand pointed at Neville, who sat frozen, unable to move from fear.

"This boy does not have the prophecy," Voldemort spoke softly, staring at Neville with those pitiless eyes. "He is of no use to us."

Neville tried, but couldn't even swallow as he watched Voldemort raising his wand. He could only close his eyes.

"Time to put down Potter's loyal dog... Avada Ke-"

A boom rang out in the Atrium, an almost ear-shattering boom, and Neville felt his face spattered with warm blood as he heard Voldemort gasp. Opening his eyes, he saw that the front of Voldemort's robes were soaked with blood, coming from a finger-sized hole in his chest.

Behind him, by the lifts, stood Harry, holding what Neville recognized as a revov... revolver, if his memory served. The long cylinder that Harry called a barrel was smoking, and his eyes were about as cold as Voldemort's own. Voldemort spun around, clutching at his wound.

"P-Potter!" he gasped, spitting blood on the ground.

Harry fired again, but Voldemort vanished out of thin air, reappearing behind Bellatrix, grabbing her and disappearing again.

"Merlin's beard!" came a voice Neville recognized as Fudge's, and it was only now that Neville saw that people had started appearing in the fireplaces lining the Atrium, all of them staring in shock at the spot where Voldemort had been standing last. "He's back," Fudge breathed in shock.

"Neville!" Harry said as he lowered his revolver and hurried over to Neville, kneeling in front of him. "Are you alright? I-"

"I'm... I'm fine," Neville panted, still a bit numb after his close encounter with death. "I-It's not my blood."

"Harry?" Fudge asked in surprise. "What are you doing here?"

"Minister, if you would send a couple of men down into the Department of Mysteries, you will find several escaped Death Eaters contained in the Hall of Prophecies, bound by an Anti-Disapparation Jinx and awaiting your decision as to what to do with them."

Fudge nodded dumbly. He looked back at two purple-robed men behind him.

"Dawlish! Williamson! Go down to the Department of Mysteries and see... Harry, y-you will need to tell me exactly what happened here," he spoke to Harry in a kind of whimper as Harry holstered his revolver behind his back.

–

**So, what do you think? Like it? Love it? Hate it? ****REVIEW, ****REVIEW, ****REVIEW, ****REVIEW, ****REVIEW, ****REVIEW, ****REVIEW**!


	5. Chapter 5

**Here you go, chapter five! Please leave a review at the door.**

–

_**HE-WHO-MUST-NOT-BE-NAMED RETURNS! POTTER STRIKES AGAIN!**_

Neville sighed as he folded up his copy of the Daily Prophet. Next to him, in his usual armchair, sat Harry, cleaning the barrel of his revolver. It was a very intimidating weapon, Neville had to admit. It was long and silver, its barrel at least six inches long. On the side of the barrel, Neville could see 'Python .357' engraved on it.

"Thank you," Neville said, breaking the silence. Harry raised an eyebrow and glanced at him. "For what you did back in the Ministry, saving my life."

"It's nothing to thank me for," Harry said with a shake of his head. "It was my fault you were there to begin with."

"And where did you get that revolvy-thingy?" Neville asked, gesturing for the revolver, making Harry sigh.

"Revolver, Neville," he corrected softly. "And it was a gift, from the Minister of Magic of Germany. He is a Muggle-born, and thought that I, having been raised a Muggle, would have more use for it than he did."

"May I see that?" Neville asked, and Harry handed over the empty revolver for Neville to inspect. Neville chuckled. "Muggles. What will they think of next?"

"Yes, warfare is one of their strongest points," Harry said, his brow furrowing as he frowned in dismay. "Sad, really."

Neville pulled the trigger of the revolver, giving a laugh when he heard the click.

"Ingenious! But how does it, er, fling those lumps of metal with such velocity?"

"Ah, excellent question, Neville," Harry said, picking up one of the bullets on the table between them. "You see this little circle at the bottom of the shell?"

"Yes?"

"This is called a primer. When the hammer of the revolver, that would be the part of the gun that, as you see, moves when you pull the trigger, which can also be cocked back for easier firing... Anyway, when the hammer strikes the primer, it generates a spark, and packed between the bullet and the primer is an explosive powder. You have, of course, read my files on explosives?"

"I have."

"Well, the spark from the power ignited the powder, which propels the bullet forward. I suppose that is the simplest explanation I can give for it," Harry said, taking back the revolver and loading it.

–

_**HARRY POTTER: THE CHOSEN ONE?**_

_Rumors continue to fly about the mysterious recent_

_disturbance at the Ministry of Magic, during_

_which He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was sighted_

_once more._

"_We're not allowed to talk about it, don't ask me_

_anything," said one agitated Obliviator, who refused_

_to give his name as he left the Ministry last_

_night._

_Nevertheless, highly placed sources within the_

_Ministry have confirmed that the disturbance centered_

_on the fabled Hall of Prophecy._

_Though Ministry spokeswizards have hitherto_

_refused even to confirm the existence of such a_

_place, a growing number of the Wizarding community_

_believe that the Death Eaters now serving sentences_

_in Azkaban for trespass and attempted theft_

_were attempting to steal a prophecy. The nature of_

_that prophecy is unknown, although speculation is_

_rife that it concerns Harry Potter, the only person_

_ever known to have survived the Killing Curse, and_

_who is also known to have been at the Ministry on_

_the night in question. Some are going so far as to_

_call Potter "the Chosen One," believing that the_

_prophecy names him as the only one who will be_

_able to rid us of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named._

_The current whereabouts of the prophecy, if it_

_exists, are unknown, although (ctd. page 2, column 5)_

"Will you look at that," Neville said, shaking his head. "Now they're placing all the responsibility on you," he said, slapping the newspaper.

Harry, sitting at his desk, staring at the glowing orb in his hand, just hummed in response, chewing thoughtfully on his pipe. He had been staring at the prophecy for two hours straight now.

"You already know what it says," Neville said with a tired sigh. "Why all the interest?"

"I don't know," Harry said, humming. "I have this feeling, this strange feeling..."

"Well, you keep pondering your feelings," Neville said as he rose from his armchair. "I'm going to have lunch with Hannah and her parents."

"Have you proposed yet?" Harry asked, making Neville flinch.

"Now, how on earth did you know that I was planning that?" he asked. "That was amazing."

For the first time in two hours, Harry took his eye off the prophecy and spun around, watching Neville with a gleam of amusement in his eyes.

"I ought to make you sign a paper, confessing to that."

"Why?"

"Because in a few minutes, you're going to say that it's all so absurdly simple."

"I'm sure I won't."

"You see, Neville," Harry said, rising from his desk and starting to lecture with the air of a professor addressing his class, "it's not really difficult to construct a series of inferences, each dependent upon its predecessor and each simple in itself. If, after doing so, one simply knocks out all the central inferences and presents one's audience with the starting-point and the conclusion, one may produce a startling effect. Now, it wasn't really difficult, by an inspection of your left hand, and your eyes."

"I see no connection," Neville said, shaking his head.

"Very likely not, but I can quickly show you a close connection. Here are the missing links of the very simple chain: One, for the last three days, whenever we have passed the jeweler, you have always glanced over the engagement rings. Two, you have been counting your money, the sums you have been counting out always ending up the same as the rings you have been looking at in the window. And finally, three, you have been rubbing your left ring finger, inspecting it, trying to see how it would look with a wedding band. Meaning, you have been thinking about proposing to Hannah."

"How absurdly simple!" Neville cried. Then, he caught himself, and tried to give Harry an apologetic look.

"Quite so," Harry said, looking a bit annoyed. "Every problem becomes very childish once it's explained to you..."

"I see things haven't changed."

Both Neville and Harry looked to the doorway, to find none other than Hermione standing there, smiling brightly.

"Hermione!" Neville exclaimed with a wide smile as he rushed over, hugging his friend, who hugged him back. She then moved over to Harry and hugged him as well, something he cautiously returned. He still wasn't used to physical contact, it seemed.

"You look worn-out," Hermione said, looking Harry over. Then, she looked to Neville. "And you... You've grown a mustache..."

"I have," Neville said with a nod, running his hand over it.

"It suits you," Hermione said. "I'm sorry, but I can't stay for long. Viktor and I are heading for America. I only came back when I heard the news of V-Voldemort's return, and I wanted to wish the both of you good luck. I-" She stopped suddenly and looked at the blackboard. "Hey, are those the Dancing Men?"

"They are," Harry said with a nod. "This criminal who calls himself Moriarty has taken it upon himself to make himself my arch-nemesis."

"Arch-nemesis?" Hermione asked, raising an eyebrow. She looked a lot healthier than Harry did, with a very nice tan, and her hair was much less bushy than it was the last time Neville saw her. "I thought Voldemort was your arch-nemesis."

"Normally, I would agree, but this Moriarty character is a lot more..." Harry paused, seeming to be looking for the right words. "Well, he's a lot more sly, a lot more sinister..."

"I wish I could help you," Hermione said, only for Harry to wave her off.

"There is no need for that. This Moriarty and his crimes are the perfect stimuli that my brain requires to function properly. The Dancing Men, the Feathered Murders, the-"

"The what?" Hermione asked, blinking. Harry turned his back on her, obviously irked at being interrupted. Neville decided to explain for her.

"The Feathered Murders. I'm currently working on writing it out. There were five murders, and in each murder, the culprit left the feather of an eagle by the victim's body. A calling card. Only trouble was that those were the only clues the criminal left. Harry had a bit of a difficult time with it, but once he sat down, he thought about it for a few minutes, then sought out the nearest bird store that sells eagles, found that only one man had purchased a bald-headed eagle, and tracked him down. During the interrogation he confessed to the murders, and gave us a name."

"Moriarty..." Harry muttered, chewing on his pipe.

–

Hermione's visit had been very short, as she was on a tight schedule. And now Neville had left to go meet Hannah and her parents, leaving Harry completely alone. While normally Harry would have loved to be alone, he didn't particularly enjoy it right now. Boredom was upon him, and no matter how much he stared at the old prophecy, he didn't get the answers he was looking for. He couldn't smash it, either, since-

"Bonjour!"

"Fleur," Harry said without turning around. "Haven't you ever heard of knocking?"

"I 'ave, but you and I bozz know zat you don't care if I don't knock," Fleur's voice said. Harry looked back and blinked. She was wearing a very pretty, powder-blue sundress and carried a picnic basket. "Come on," she said, smiling brightly. "We should go for a picnic."

And so, Harry found himself sitting somewhere outside London, on a green field of grass with Fleur, who had brought with her wine, bread, and other little treats, including more green olives.

"What did you bring me out here for?" Harry asked as Fleur poured some wine into two glasses that she took out of the picnic basket, handing one over to Harry, who sniffed it for poison.

"I wanted to apologize," Fleur said, shaking her head in exasperation as she sipped her wine. Seeing her swallow it, Harry sampled his own wine and found that there was no poison in it. "For leaving you in France, I mean."

Harry grumbled. He really didn't want to be reminded of that day.

"I never intended to steal anyzzing," Fleur confessed. "It just... 'appened."

"And without a word, you disappeared," Harry said. Fleur seemed sincere in wanting to apologize. In fact, she looked very nervous, no doubt regarding whether or not Harry would accept her apology. "I forgive you," he said, making Fleur look up hopefully. "But if you think that I will show you the same level of trust as I did before, you are sorely mistaken."

"I did not expect you to," Fleur said, a timid smile on her face as she gave a nervous laugh. "I wasn't really sure you would even accept my apology."

"Well, I did," Harry said simply. "I love you, Fleur, and I don't think I will ever stop. I hate you as well, for love is an emotion that clouds one's judgment."

Fleur smiled coyly.

"It is as one says, love makes you do stupid zings."

"Such as deliberately misleading the Department of Magical Law Enforcement just so that you wouldn't have to serve any jail time for stealing the former Minister's wife's emerald bracelet, among other things," Harry said, his brow furrowing in annoyance. Luckily, the authorities hadn't asked him to lead the investigation, but only asked for help. He had blamed their failures on their own incompetence, which was partly true.

They were truly incompetent.

"I love you too, 'Arry, I want you to know zat," Fleur said softly. "If I 'adn't I wouldn't 'ave been spending the last few weeks trying to dig up information on zis Moriarty character."

"You've been trying to help me?" Harry asked in surprise.

"Oui. Zough ze keyword is 'trying,'" Fleur said with another exasperated sigh. "Ze man... 'E is like a ghost. Everyone knows 'im, yet no one knows 'oo 'e is. It's very frustrating for me..."

"I don't want you putting yourself in harm's way, trying to find information on this man," Harry said adamantly. "I can find him myself."

"I sincerely 'ope you can."

–

Neville made his way up the stairs to his and Harry's flat, opening the door with a smile on his face, having spent the night at Hannah's house. She truly was an amazing woman, and not bad at all in bed, he thought with a smirk on his face, though he immediately shook his head to clear it of such thoughts. He was a gentleman, and it was unbecoming of him to think things like that...

"Bonjour," a throaty voice greeted Neville as he stepped inside the flat, to see none other than Fleur Delacour coming out of the kitchen, wearing (apparently) nothing but Harry's voluminous shirt. She was holding a bottle of wine and two glasses in her hand.

"Good morning..." Neville said slowly, blinking in surprise. "I take it... Harry is in?"

"He was, several times," Fleur said with a wink, making Neville blush at the meaning of her words. With a wave, she headed into Harry's room, closing the door behind her.

Neville shook his head to himself and moved over to the window, paying the post owl that was waiting there with the Daily Prophet. The owl hooted and flew off, and Neville read the headline.

_**WANDMAKER KIDNAPPED! OLLIVANDER MISSING!**_

Neville shook his head and looked out the window. True enough, there were a lot of people gathered around the wand shop down the Alley, peering into the windows inquisitively.

"Neville!" came Harry voice as the man himself came out of his bedroom, clad only in his pants, which he seemed to have put on in a hurry. "Good to see you! I need you to do something for me."

"Something that you could be doing were you not... preoccupied with Miss Delacour?" Neville asked, raising an eyebrow as he looked up from the newspaper.

"I need you to contact Madam Bones," Harry said, seemingly ignoring Neville. "Tell her I would like to arrange a visit to Azkaban."

"What prisoner?"

"Morfin Gaunt."

–

_The door creaked open. There on the threshold, holding an old-fashioned lamp, stood a boy Harry recognized at once: tall, pale, dark-haired, and handsome, the teenage Voldemort._

_Voldemort's eyes moved slowly around the hovel and then found the man in the armchair. For a few seconds they looked at each other, then the man staggered upright, the many empty bottles at his feet clattering and tinkling across the floor._

"_YOU!" he bellowed. "YOU!"_

_And he hurtled drunkenly at Riddle, wand and knife held aloft._

"Stop."

_Riddle spoke in Parseltongue. The man skidded into the table, sending moldy pots crashing to the floor. He stared at Riddle._

_There was a long silence while they contemplated each other. The man broke it._

"You speak it?"

"Yes, I speak it," _said Riddle. He moved forward into the room, allowing the door to swing shut behind him. Harry could not help but feel a resentful admiration for Voldemort's complete lack of fear. His face merely expressed disgust and, perhaps, disappointment._

"Where is Marvolo?"_ he asked._

"Dead,"_ said the other. _"Died years ago, didn't he?"

_Riddle frowned._

"Who are you, then?"

"I'm Morfin, ain't I ?"

"Marvolo's son?"

"'Course I am, then..."

_Morfin pushed the hair out of his dirty face, the better to see Riddle, and Harry saw that he wore a black-stoned ring on his right hand._

"I thought you was that Muggle,"_ Morfin whispered. _"You look mighty like that Muggle."

"What Muggle?"_ said Riddle sharply._

"That Muggle what my sister took a fancy to, that Muggle what lives in the big house over the way,"_ said Morfin, and he spat unexpectedly upon the floor between them. _"You look right like him. Riddle. But he's older now, in'e? He's older'n you, now I think on it..."

_Morfin looked slightly dazed and swayed a little, still clutching the edge of the table for support. _"He come back, see,"_ he added stupidly._

_Voldemort was gazing at Morfin as though appraising his possibilities. Now he moved a little closer and said, _"Riddle came back?"

"Ar, he left her, and serve her right, marrying filth!"_ said Morfin, spitting on the floor again. _"Robbed us, mind, before she ran off! Where's the locket, eh, where's Slytherin's locket?"

_Voldemort did not answer. Morfin was working himself into a rage again. He brandished his knife and shouted, _"Dishonored us, she did, that little slut! And who're you, coming here and asking questions about all that? It's over, innit... It's over..."

_He looked away, staggering slightly, and Voldemort moved forward. As he did so, an unnatural darkness fell, extinguishing Voldemort's lamp and Morfin's candle, extinguishing everything..._

Harry brought himself out of Morfin's mind. The Morfin of today was near death's door in Azkaban, charged with the murder of the Riddle family in Little Hangleton. He was thin, his long hair and beard dirty and grimy. He was barely able to keep his eyes open. Harry patted him on the shoulder as he lowered his wand, holstering it and leaving the cell. The Auror guards outside closed the cell door after Harry left the cell.

On the boat ride back to shore, Harry had a lot to think about. Voldemort took great pride in his heritage, so of course he would find and take Slytherin's locket, something very dear to him, and make it a Horcrux. The ring was also of some interest, as Morfin didn't wear it any longer, and even though he was pale in Azkaban, there was still a mark from where he had worn it, another family heirloom and possible Horcrux. So that was Harry, the diary, the snake, the locket, and the ring. That was four. Voldemort took Arithmancy in school, so he should know that seven was the most powerful magical number. Therefore, there should be two left... but what could they be?

"So?" Amelia Bones interrupted Harry's train of thought.

"Hm?"

"I broke about five rules allowing you to visit and use Leglilimency on Morfin Gaunt," Scrimgeour said, staring hard at Harry. "Did it give you the answers you were looking for?"

"Answers, yes," Harry said as he lit his pipe and leaned back, sighing. "But all the more questions..."

–

Neville was unaware of why Harry had spent half his fortune just to purchase a Pensieve, a device that would allow one to record memories and thoughts that would keep ones head from getting too stuffed, but when his friend Sir Harry Potter burst through the door, a look of triumph on his face, he believed that he would be getting an answer.

"Success, Neville! I beat Dumbledore to it!" Harry proclaimed triumphantly as he reached into his pocket, withdrawing a small phial filled with a silvery substance. "Let us dive into the memories of Hokey the house-elf, who worked for a very old, very rich witch by the name of Hepzibah Smith!"

"And the reason why we have spent two years searching for these memories?" Neville asked, and Harry laughed, pouring the contents into the Pensieve, and together, they dipped their fingers into it.

_Neville tumbled through dark nothingness and landed in a sitting room in front of an immensely fat old lady wearing an elaborate ginger wig and a brilliant pink set of robes that flowed all around her, giving her the look of a melting iced cake. She was looking into a small jeweled mirror and dabbing rouge onto her already scarlet cheeks with a large powder puff, while the tiniest and oldest house-elf Neville had ever seen laced her fleshy feet into tight satin slippers._

"_Hurry up, Hokey!" Hepzibah said imperiously. "He said he'd come at four, it's only a couple of minutes to and he's never been late yet!"_

_She tucked away her powder puff as the house-elf straightened up. The top of the elf 's head barely reached the seat of Hepzibah's chair, and her papery skin hung off her frame just like the crisp linen sheet she wore draped like a toga._

"_How do I look?" Hepzibah said, turning her head to admire the various angles of her face in the mirror._

"_Lovely, madam," squeaked Hokey._

_Neville could only assume that it was down in Hokey's contract that she must lie through her teeth when asked this question, because Hepzibah Smith looked a long way from lovely in his opinion._

_A tinkling doorbell rang and both mistress and elf jumped._

"_Quick, quick, he's here, Hokey!" Hepzibah cried and the elf scurried out of the room, which was so crammed with objects that it was difficult to see how anybody could navigate their way across it without knocking over at least a dozen things: There were cabinets full of little lacquered boxes, cases full of gold-embossed books, shelves of orbs and celestial globes, and many flourishing potted plants in brass containers. In fact, the room looked like a cross between a magical antique shop and a conservatory._

_The house-elf returned within minutes, followed by a tall young man Neville had no difficulty whatsoever in recognizing as Voldemort._

_He was plainly dressed in a black suit. His hair was a little longer than it had been at school and his cheeks were hollowed, but all of this suited him. He looked more handsome than ever. He picked his way through the cramped room with an air that showed he had visited many times before and bowed low over Hepzibah's fat little hand, brushing it with his lips._

"_I brought you flowers," he said quietly, producing a bunch of roses from nowhere._

"_You naughty boy, you shouldn't have!" old Hepzibah squealed, though Neville noticed that she had an empty vase standing ready on the nearest little table. "You do spoil this old lady, Tom... Sit down, sit down... Where's Hokey? Ah..."_

_The house-elf had come dashing back into the room carrying a tray of little cakes, which she set at her mistress's elbow._

"_Help yourself, Tom," Hepzibah said, "I know how you love my cakes. Now, how are you? You look pale. They overwork you at that shop, I've said it a hundred times. . . ."_

_Voldemort smiled mechanically and Hepzibah simpered._

"_Well, what's your excuse for visiting this time?" she asked, batting her lashes._

"_Mr. Burke would like to make an improved offer for the goblin-made armor," Voldemort said. "Five hundred Galleons, he feels_

_it is a more than fair-"_

"_Now, now, not so fast, or I'll think you're only here for my trinkets!" Hepzibah pouted._

"_I am ordered here because of them," Voldemort said quietly. "I am only a poor assistant, madam, who must do as he is told. Mr._

_Burke wishes me to inquire-"_

"_Oh, Mr. Burke, phooey!" Hepzibah said, waving a little hand. "I've something to show you that I've never shown Mr. Burke! Can you keep a secret, Tom? Will you promise you won't tell Mr. Burke I've got it? He'd never let me rest if he knew I'd shown it to you, and I'm not selling, not to Burke, not to anyone! But you, Tom, you'll appreciate it for its history, not how many Galleons you can get for it."_

"_I'd be glad to see anything Miss Hepzibah shows me," Voldemort said quietly, and Hepzibah gave another girlish giggle._

"_I had Hokey bring it out for me... Hokey, where are you? I want to show Mr. Riddle our finest treasure... In fact, bring both, while you're at it..."_

"_Here, madam," squeaked the house-elf, and Neville saw two leather boxes, one on top of the other, moving across the room as if of their own volition, though he knew the tiny elf was holding them over her head as she wended her way between tables, pouffes, and footstools._

"_Now," Hepzibah said happily, taking the boxes from the elf, laying them in her lap, and preparing to open the topmost one, "I think you'll like this, Tom... Oh, if my family knew I was showing you... They can't wait to get their hands on this!"_

_She opened the lid. Neville edged forward a little to get a better view and saw what looked like a small golden cup with two finely wrought handles._

"_I wonder whether you know what it is, Tom? Pick it up, have a good look!" Hepzibah whispered, and Voldemort stretched out a long-fingered hand and lifted the cup by one handle out of its snug silken wrappings. Neville thought he saw a red gleam in his dark eyes. His greedy expression was curiously mirrored on Hepzibah's face, except that her tiny eyes were fixed upon Voldemort's handsome features._

"_A badger," Voldemort murmured, examining the engraving upon the cup. "Then this was...?"_

"_Helga Hufflepuff's, as you very well know, you clever boy!" Hepzibah said, leaning forward with a loud creaking of corsets and actually pinching his hollow cheek. "Didn't I tell you I was distantly descended? This has been handed down in the family for years and years. Lovely, isn't it? And all sorts of powers it's supposed to possess too, but I haven't tested them thoroughly, I just keep it nice and safe in here..."_

_She hooked the cup back off Voldemort's long forefinger and restored it gently to its box, too intent upon settling it carefully back into position to notice the shadow that crossed Voldemort's face as the cup was taken away._

"_Now then," Hepzibah said happily, "where's Hokey? Oh yes, there you are, take that away now, Hokey."_

_The elf obediently took the boxed cup, and Hepzibah turned her attention to the much flatter box in her lap._

"_I think you'll like this even more, Tom," she whispered. "Lean in a little, dear boy, so you can see... Of course, Burke knows I've got this one, I bought it from him, and I daresay he'd love to get it back when I'm gone..."_

_She slid back the fine filigree clasp and flipped open the box. There upon the smooth crimson velvet lay a heavy golden locket. Voldemort reached out his hand, without invitation this time, and held it up to the light, staring at it._

"_Slytherin's mark," he said quietly, as the light played upon an ornate, serpentine S._

"_That's right!" Hepzibah said, delighted, apparently, at the sight of Voldemort gazing at her locket, transfixed. "I had to pay an arm and a leg for it, but I couldn't let it pass, not a real treasure like that, had to have it for my collection. Burke bought it, apparently, from a ragged-looking woman who seemed to have stolen it, but had no idea of its true value-"_

_There was no mistaking it this time: Voldemort's eyes flashed scarlet at the words, and Neville saw his knuckles whiten on the locket's chain._

"_-I daresay Burke paid her a pittance but there you are... Pretty, isn't it? And again, all kinds of powers attributed to it, though I just keep it nice and safe..."_

_She reached out to take the locket back. For a moment, Neville thought Voldemort was not going to let go of it, but then it had slid through his fingers and was back in its red velvet cushion._

"_So there you are, Tom, dear, and I hope you enjoyed that!"_

_She looked him full in the face and for the first time, Neville saw her foolish smile falter._

"_Are you all right, dear?"_

"_Oh yes," Voldemort said quietly. "Yes, I'm very well..."_

"_I thought... but a trick of the light, I suppose..." Hepzibah said, looking unnerved, and Neville guessed that she too had seen the momentary red gleam in Voldemort's eyes. "Here, Hokey, take these away and lock them up again... The usual enchantments..."_

"That is quite enough."

Neville felt a hand on his shoulder, and a second later, he was standing in Harry's flat once more.

"It doesn't take a genius to guess that Hepzibah died shortly after that?" Neville guessed, and Harry nodded.

"Indeed. Hokey the house-elf was convicted by the Ministry of poisoning her mistress's evening cocoa by accident."

"But that's not possible."

"We're of the same mind on that one, I believe," Harry said, nodding again. "This death, and that of the Riddles, share many similarities. Both of them took the blame, yet when I ventured into their minds, the memory of the actual killing was muddy. And, as her relatives looked through Hepzibah's flat, they never found the cup or the locket."

"So now we know that it's you, the snake, the locket, the diary, the cup, and the ring?"

"Yes," Harry said with a nod. "That much, we know for sure, and as I never guess, I can say with utmost certainty that those are the only Horcruxes he has had time to make. He has much too much to do now to focus on his Horcruxes. Now is our time to strike, Neville!"

"But wait, I thought you said there were seven?"

"Bah, nonsense!" Harry cried as he started pacing the flat, his chin on his chest and his hands behind his back. "There might be seven, but... No... The number seven has no effect on the soul. The only thing unable to be tampered with in Arithmantic calculations is the soul. It's the whole free will thing. Arithmancy has no effect on the person or souls themselves, only the surroundings."

"In English, please?" Neville asked, looking confused. "In a type of English that those who didn't take NEWT Arithmancy can understand?"

Harry sighed sighed. "It's very simple. Every living person has something called Free Will, following me so far?" Neville nodded, even though he knew it was a jab at his ignorance. "Anyway, Arithmantic calculations deal in absolute. If an equation equals something, that's just the way it is. But a man's thought process, and the soul's energy are constantly ever-changing, resistant to the absolute of Arithmancy. Therefore, it has no effect on a Horcrux."

"But he only did it to make his immortality more certain."

"Exactly," Harry said, nodding. "He was trying to put an absolute concept on the most non-absolute force of energy in existence." Seeing that he'd lost Neville, he sighed and explained, "It's like trying to use water to up the power of fire. It just doesn't work. Either the fire is put out, or it's so powerful that it just turns the water into steam. Either way, you're left with a lot of water and a fire, or just water. If we're lucky, the former happened, and Voldemort's faith in the number seven became his undoing."

"Let us hope it's the former," Neville said, nodding.

"But Voldemort took Arithmancy at Hogwarts," Harry mumbled, probably mostly to himself. "Therefore, he didn't make seven..."

"You look weary," Neville said, looking Harry over. "Why don't I schedule you in for a physical some time soon?"

"I am perfectly fine," Harry said. "Now, this is a... three pipe problem, I think, and I would like to ponder it in silence, if you don't mind?"

"Not at all," Neville said, knowing his friend wouldn't agree to a physical no matter how many times he asked for it. Instead, Neville just picked up the Daily Prophet and let Harry do his thinking in peace.

–

**So, what do you think? Like it? Love it? Hate it? ****REVIEW, ****REVIEW, ****REVIEW, ****REVIEW, ****REVIEW, ****REVIEW, ****REVIEW**!


	6. Chapter 6

**Here you go, chapter six! Please leave a review at the door.**

–

Harry panted as he ran, his long legs carrying him far fast. Tucked safely in his frock coat, he carried a golden cup, with a very beautiful badger engraved on it. A flash of green light passed just over his head, and he ducked into a side-alley in Knockturn Alley, finding himself in front of Borgin & Burke's, stopping and catching his breath.

He hissed softly to himself as the scratches on his back ached something fierce. From what he could count, there were five people after him. The four wizards, he could handle, but Greyback, he was much too quick on his feet for Harry to keep up with... Not to mention, he always managed to get behind Harry, hence the scratches on his back.

Steeling himself, Harry took off running again, out of the side alley and down Knockturn Alley once more. He heard Greyback's shout behind him as he ran, and he knew the werewolf was now in hot pursuit. He stopped and ducked just in time for Greyback to come flying over him, having lunged at the only consulting detective in the world.

Harry rushed forward as the werewolf landed, and rammed into him with his shoulder, drawing his revolver in the process and pressing it against Greyback's flesh, pulling the trigger.

A bang echoed through the alley, followed by Greyback's howl of pain. With the werewolf down, Harry holstered his revolver and took off running once more, leaping over Greyback, into Diagon Alley.

–

It was with some surprise that Neville saw Harry come panting into their sitting room upon the evening of April 24th. It struck him that Harry was looking even paler and thinner than usual.

"Yes, I have been using myself up rather too freely," he remarked, in answer to Neville's look rather than to his words. "I have been a little pressed of late. Have you any objection to my closing the shutters?"

The only light in the room came from the lamp upon the table at which Neville had been reading. Harry edged his way round the wall, and, flinging the shutters together, he bolted them securely.

"You are afraid of something?" Neville asked.

"Well, I am."

"Of what?"

"Of curses."

"Harry, what do you mean?"

"I think that you know me well enough, Neville, to understand that I am by no means a nervous man. At the same time, it is stupidity rather than courage to refuse to recognize danger when it is close upon you. Might I trouble you for a match?"

Neville lit a match, and Harry withdrew a cigarette, lighting it. He drew in the smoke of his cigarette as if the soothing influence was grateful to him.

"But what does it all mean?" Neville asked again.

"It means," Harry said, reaching into his frock coat and throwing something onto Neville's desk, making the man jump in shock at what he saw, "that I have found the third and fourth Horcrux."

Upon Neville's desk lay the cup that they had for so long been looking for, Helga Hufflepuff's Cup. Dripping from it was a strange, black liquid, much like that which had spewed from Tom Riddle's diary. Next to the cup was the head of a snake, about as thick as Neville's thigh.

"So that means, my dear Neville, that the ring and I are the final ones," Harry said, looking happy and worried at the same time. "Voldemort knows this, and I believe his soul is much too maimed to be able to create another Horcrux. I have seen it. He is angry, very upset, on the verge of risking coming here just to get to me."

"But what about the locket?" Neville asked, and Harry shook his head.

"I doubt his soul was whole enough to make it into a Horcrux. Too maimed."

A pecking on the window was heard, and Neville was given permission to open his window long enough to allow an owl to fly in, dropping the Evening Prophet onto his desk. Neville picked it up, and his eyes widened at the headline.

"I didn't think Dumbledore was very pro-Ministry..."

_**ALBUS DUMBLEDORE TO HELP THE MINISTRY!**_

Harry immediately snatched the paper out of Neville's hands, staring at the picture of Albus Dumbledore outside the Wizengamot chamber. Much to Neville's surprise, however, the shock on Harry's face slowly melted away to make room for a triumphant smile.

"He did it!" he exclaimed as he jumped to his feet, victoriously raising a hand into the air.

"Merlin's beard, Harry, I know it's good that they're working together, but-"

"No, no, no," Harry interrupted impatiently and showed Neville the picture. "Look at Dumbledore's hand, Neville, look at his finger!"

There, on Dumbledore's hand, was an ugly, black ring, and even on that picture, he could see that it had a crack through it.

"So that leaves just you," Neville said, and Harry nodded.

"So it does. And I know just how to get rid of it."

"You do?" Neville asked, getting another nod.

"I do. I simply-"

The door to the kitchen opened suddenly, and Harry was up in a flash, his wand pointed at the intruder, only for an apologetic look to appear on his face when they saw that Hannah Abbott stood in the doorway, her eyes wide as she held a tea tray.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Harry said, holstering his wand. "Nerves, you know. How are you, dear?"

Hannah gulped, moving into the room and setting the tray down on Neville's desk.

"I'm fine, Harry, much better than you, I daresay."

Harry hummed as he ran a hand over his face, as if trying to figure out just how he looked by what he felt with his experienced fingers. Hannah poured them both some tea, and Neville noted that Harry took his tea with slightly shaky hands, hands with bruised and bleeding knuckles.

"Harry," Neville said, immediately moving over with his wand, while Hannah left the room, heading into Neville's bedroom. "What happened to your hands?"

"I ran into a bit of trouble with a group of Death Eaters when I relieved them of this cup," Harry said. "I dealt with the Death Eaters with relative ease, but Fenrir Greyback was amongst them, and he knocked my wand out of my hand, so I had to fight him hand-to-hand. Nasty business, really..."

Neville used a soundless Healing Charm on Harry's knuckles, and watched as they mended.

"While you're at it, you may wish to take a look at these," Harry said as he removed his frock coat and shirt, turning around to show four long scratches on his back. "I got those when I tried to escape _without_ fighting."

–

"Ah, welcome back, Harry," Dumbledore greeted happily as the thin and worn-looking Harry stepped into the Headmaster's office at Hogwarts. "How do you feel, coming back here?"

"Nostalgic," Harry answered, shaking the headmaster's hand. "Very nostalgic. But I doubt that you called me here just so that I could experience the sights and sounds of good old Hogwarts one more time?"

"No, actually, there are some things I need to tell you, and show you," Dumbledore said, gesturing for his desk, where Harry saw a Pensieve, looking much like Harry's own. "There are memories, Harry, that I would like you to take a look at."

"If this is about Horcruxes," Harry said as he took a cigarette case out of his coat and lit a cigarette, "I already know about them."

Dumbledore's eyes widened in surprise. "Well, that was a very pleasant surprise, I must say. So, all those times I have been to Diagon Alley, and you have been out...?"

"Horcrux hunting," Harry confirmed with a nod. "So far, I have managed to find and destroy Hufflepuff's cup, Voldemort's snake, and the diary, and you have so far destroyed the ring."

"I see you paid a visit to Morfin Gaunt as well," Dumbledore said, happily, holding up his hand to show the ugly, cracked ring on his hand. "Yes, this ring had a rather nasty curse on it. Luckily, I cast a diagnostic charm on it before I picked it up, or it would have killed me."

"Yeah, I have four scars on my back from when I relieved Greyback and a group of Death Eaters of the cup," Harry said, taking a long drag on his cigarette.

"You look tired, my boy," Dumbledore said, to which Harry nodded.

"Yes, like I told Neville I have been using myself up much too freely lately."

"Well, this saves us a lot of time," Dumbledore said, clapping his hands together happily. "So, tell me, how much do you know of Lord Voldemort's Horcruxes?"

"I am certain that he tried to make seven," Harry said, "but his soul was no doubt much too maimed for that. He created a total of four, I think," Harry said, deciding not to tell Dumbledore about discovering himself as a Horcrux.

"Six, I think, is a more accurate number," Dumbledore said. "Voldemort's soul was, I believe, not too maimed for him to make a Horcrux out of Slytherin's locket and another one of the objects of the founders. Voldemort still felt a pull to this school, even after he graduated. It was his true home, in his opinion, which is why he came seeking the Defense Against the Dark Arts post here."

"Voldemort came looking for a job?" Harry asked in surprise, and Dumbledore nodded, gesturing for the Pensieve.

"I can show you, if you'd like?"

–

"Was he searching for something here at Hogwarts?" Harry asked as soon as he felt his feet hit solid ground once more, standing in Dumbledore's office. "Was he looking for another object of the founders?"

"Depositing, actually," Dumbledore said as he moved around his desk to open a drawer, taking out something and setting it down on the desk. It was a diadem, adorned with sapphires, and looking closely, Harry could see the motto of Rowena Ravenclaw engraved in it.

"The fabled diadem of Rowena Ravenclaw..." Harry said as he picked it up, seeing traces of the same black liquid that had poured out of every Horcrux so far. "He hid it here? That was very reckless of him."

"Voldemort," Dumbledore started, sitting down in his chair again, "is a very proud man. He believed himself to have discovered more of this castle's secrets than anyone ever has, but I daresay the ghosts know more of them than he does. It took a considerable amount of coaxing for me to get the Grey Lady to reveal that she had told Voldemort of the diadem's location."

"The Grey Lady?"

"Born Helena Ravenclaw," Dumbledore said, making Harry's eyes widen in realization, all the dots connecting now.

–

"I did it!" Neville cried triumphantly as he strode into 221B Diagon Alley, where he found Harry sitting in his usual armchair, his legs stretched out and his old pipe from school hanging from his mouth. "I proposed!"

"And from your happy expression, I can tell that she said yes," Harry said, rising from his armchair, holding out his hand. "Congratulations, Neville!"

"Thank you!" Neville said, wringing Harry's hand happily. "I was so nervous, since she didn't respond right away. She just sat there, staring at me."

"Calm yourself, Neville," Harry said with a chuckle, reaching for the cigar case on the table between the two armchairs. "Here, have a cigar and do sit down."

Neville took the cigar and lit it, before sitting down along with Harry. He took off his high crown bowler and ran a hand through his hair.

"I can't believe I'm going to get married," he said, still in shock from it all. Harry laughed and reached over, patting Neville on the shoulder.

"Well, if anyone deserves a bit of happiness in his life, it's you, my dear Neville," he said.

The door to Harry's bedroom opened, and out stepped Fleur Delacour, who was putting her hair up in a ponytail, wearing very beautiful robes of white silk.

"Did I 'ear what I zink I 'eard?" she asked, looking to Neville happily. "You are getting married?"

"I am," Neville said proudly, getting rewarded with a brilliant smile from Fleur.

"Congratulations, Neville! I am so 'appy for you!"

"Thank you," Neville said, rising from his chair and allowing Fleur to hug him. As soon as she released the hug, however, he patted his jacket to make sure his money pouch was still on his person. Can't be too careful, he thought.

A post owl suddenly flew in through the window, dropping a letter in Harry's lap, before flying out. Immediately, Harry's wand was out, and he was casting all kinds of different charms on the envelope, no doubt checking for curses and all kinds of things, before he slowly opened it, revealing a piece of parchment with dancing men on it.

Harry shot to his feet immediately and rushed over to the blackboard, copying it all down.

"Stop... hunting... me... Potter..." he muttered to himself, adding letters to the dancers, while Neville and Fleur watched. "I... am... a... riddle... you... cannot... solve..."

"What does that mean?" Neville asked, but Harry didn't answer. Instead, he seemed to be waiting for something. Sure enough, within moments, Madam Bones' horned owl came flying in through the window, carrying a letter as well. Neville recognized it right away, because of the black spot on his forehead in the shape of a Z, which had prompted Madam Bones to name the bird Zed.

Harry resignedly took the letter the owl was carrying and opened it slowly, taking out the parchment and reading it. His expression didn't change, but when he was done reading, he merely dropped the letter to the floor, grabbed his violin, and moved back to his armchair, sitting down and playing a very depressing tune.

"Bad news?" Neville asked.

"Mhmm..."

"What 'appened?" Fleur asked, sounding very concerned.

"The Headless Case," Harry muttered, his scraping on the violin getting quicker. "We had him... One of Moriarty's... generals, let's call them..." His grip on the bow could be seen tightening as he no longer produced any tune on his violin, just mindless scraping on the strings. "When the Aurors closed in on him, he drank a bottle of poison... killing him right away!"

With one last violent scrape, Harry dropped the violin and bow to the floor, stretching his long legs out again and sighing heavily.

"Another dead end..." he muttered, sounding depressed.

"You need to relax, amour," Fleur said, gracefully moving over and sitting down on the armrest of Harry's chair. "Take a deep breath. Relax... Focus... Zere must be somezzing you 'ave overlooked."

"This man has connections to everything. He is even moving in on Voldemort's operations," Harry said, closing his eyes and breathing deeply. "He can predict every move the Order makes, every move _I_ make..."

"Well, this certainly put a dampener on my good news..." Neville muttered, and Harry blinked, as if realizing that Neville was still there.

"I beg you a thousand apologies, Neville, for letting my work spoil the good mood," he said, reaching over and patting Neville on the shoulder. "I was just... It's just... frustrating. When is the wedding?"

"As soon as possible," Neville said. "These are dangerous days, after all. You'll be best man?"

"I'd be honored to."

"Marvelous."

Harry blinked again, as if realizing something again.

"You'll be moving out, then?"

Neville chuckled in amusement.

"Yes, Harry. I have recently purchased a house not too far from Hogsmeade," he said. "A beautiful place. Hannah and I will live there together, and I will start my private practice there. Married couples do that, you know. Live together, I mean."

"Shame, that..."

"You are, of course, also invited, Fleur," Neville said politely to Fleur, who gave a brilliant smile.

"Zank you, Neville. You are very kind."

–Six months later–

A great, white marquee had been set up behind the grand two-story house that Neville had purchased, in which he had lived with Hannah for the last six months. Harry stood inside, at the front of it, with Neville, looking over all the people who had gathered. On the right-hand side sat friends and relatives of Neville, along with Fleur, and on the left-hand side sat friends and relatives of Hannah Abbott, soon to be Longbottom.

Neville was wearing a set of very nice dress robes, but Harry merely wore the same style of clothing he had worn during the Yule Ball. Both of them wore large, white roses in their button holes.

The crowd, who had all been chatting to themselves, went silent as music started playing from seemingly out of nowhere. A great collective sigh issued from the assembled witches and wizards as Mr. Abbott and Hannah came walking up the aisle. Mr. Abbott looked as though he had never been more proud, but Hannah's eyes were only on Neville as they approached. She was wearing a beautiful white dress, and behind her came Susan Bones and Megan Jones, both wearing sunflower-yellow dresses.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Albus Dumbledore said once Hannah had reached them, standing in front of the soon to be Mr. and Mrs. Longbottom. "We are gathered here today to celebrate the union of two faithful souls, as they exchange their vows of everlasting love. Who gives this woman to be married to this man?"

"I do," Mr. Abbott said as he placed Hannah's hand in Neville's, before sitting down. Harry observed Neville and Hannah, both of whom were staring at each other with nothing but love in their eyes. For some reason, Harry felt a spark of jealousy at that. He had always considered love to be a weakness, something that merely got in the way of one's judgment, as proven with his love for Fleur. He could never merely focus on simply loving someone, could he?

"As Hannah and Neville take their vows today, we are privileged to witness the joyous love of a new family, a family that will be nourished and nurtured through the devotion of two separate individuals growing together through the common bonds of love.

May their marriage bring them the peace, joy, comfort and contentment that is known in the hearts of all of us," Dumbledore said, beaming happily at the two of them. "And may Neville and Hannah both look forward to each new season of their marriage, just as the world looks forward to each new season of the year. For all seasons bring with them their own special moments and memories.

"An essential requirement of a good marriage is a strong bond of real friendship and trust. Hannah and Neville, your love for each other will grow deeper with every passing day, but it's important to remember that your love stands on a foundation of genuine, mutual affection and respect for each other. To truly _love_ another person is to be willing to accept both their strong points, and their weak points, with equal measures of understanding and respect.

"The vows you are about to exchange, will serve as a verbal representation of the non-verbal emotions that are as real as any thing that can be seen, heard or touched. For it is not the words that you will speak today that will bond you together as one, but the strength of the love and commitment found deep within your souls."

Harry looked over the crowd. Most of them, including Fleur, had tears in their eyes, crying for the happy couple.

"Neville Frank, will you take Hannah Belle to be your wife, your partner in life and your one true love? Will you cherish her friendship and love her today, tomorrow and forever? Will you trust and honor her, laugh with her and cry with her? Will you be faithful through good times and bad, in sickness and in health as long as you both shall live?"

Neville smiled, and without a second thought said, "I will." He took the ring that Harry handed him and put it on Hannah's finger.

"Hannah Belle, will you take Neville Frank to be your husband, your partner in life and your one true love? Will you cherish his friendship and love him today, tomorrow and forever? Will you trust and honor him, laugh with him and cry with him? Will you be faithful through good times and bad, in sickness and in health as long as you both shall live?"

"I will," Hannah said with a bright smile, tears shining in her eyes. She took a ring from Susan and put it on Neville's finger.

Dumbledore beamed even brighter, his eyes twinkling with happy tears as well.

"Then it gives me great pleasure, and great pride in declaring you bonded for life!"

Dumbledore waved his wand high over the heads of Neville and Hannah, and a shower of silver stars fell upon them, spiraling around their now entwined figures.

The gathered crowd all cheered and applauded as Neville and Hannah kissed. There were wolf-whistles and laughs, so many things happening all at once that even Harry couldn't keep up with it all.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" Dumbledore called. "If you would please stand up!"

They all did so, and Dumbledore waved his wand again. The seats upon which they had been sitting rose gracefully into the air as the canvas walls of the marquee vanished, so that they stood beneath a canopy supported by golden poles, with a glorious view of the sunlit garden and surrounding countryside. Next, a pool of molten gold spread from the center of the tent to form a gleaming dance floor. The hovering chairs grouped themselves around small, white-clothed tables, which all floated gracefully back to earth around it, and a golden-jacketed band trooped toward a podium.

"Congratulations," Harry told the two newlyweds as people started approaching to congratulate them, Fleur included. "The flat is going to be lonely without you, but I suppose this is for the best. If anyone deserves this happiness, it's you."

"Thank you, Harry," Neville said with a smile, shaking Harry's hand, then hugging him tightly. "You're the best friend I've ever had. If you ever need my help, just let me know."

Harry nodded as they broke the hug, both of them sniffing, but skillfully hiding their tears from each other and the surrounding people. Harry never would have thought he'd actually cry, but he was filled with so much happiness and sadness at the same time that he just couldn't hold it in. So much for being like Holmes...

"Are you crying, mon amour?" came Fleur's voice from behind him, and he hastily wiped his eyes, sniffing and turning to face the beautiful quarter-veela.

"Not at all. I just got something in my eye, that's all," he lied easily, but he knew Fleur didn't buy it.

"Come on," she told him, taking his hand and moving to the empty dance floor, just as they band started playing and Neville and Hannah made their way onto it first, to great applause. After a while, Fleur led Harry onto the floor, and the two started waltzing.

"You look conflicted," Fleur whispered into Harry's ear as they slowly moved to the tune.

"After this is over," Harry started hesitantly. "After Voldemort is gone and Moriarty is behind bars... will you marry me?" he asked, feeling Fleur's body stiffen for a second in surprise.

"Of course," she answered immediately. "Zere is no one for me, ozzer zan you."

–

**So, what do you think? Like it? Love it? Hate it? ****REVIEW, ****REVIEW, ****REVIEW, ****REVIEW, ****REVIEW, ****REVIEW, ****REVIEW**!


	7. Chapter 7

**Here you go, chapter seven, the final one! I (finally) realized that I haven't really given props to JKR or the great Sir Arthur Conan Doyle for taking passages and quotes from their books. Well, I'm doing it now, props to JKR and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle! Please leave a review at the door.**

–

_It may be remembered that after my start in private practice, and my subsequent marriage, the very intimate relations which had existed between Harry and myself became to some extent modified. He still came to me from time to time when he desired a companion in his investigations, but these occasions grew more and more seldom, until I find that in the year 2008 there were only three cases of which I retain any record. One of these cases was the curious case of The Missing Thumb._

_I had just performed a check-up on Mr. Ambrosius Flume, who owns Honeydukes in Hogsmeade, when my trusted friend, Sir Harry Potter, came barging into my office one evening, wearing an expression_

A knock forced Neville to lift his quill from his parchment and say, "Come in," as he sat in his study in the home that belonged to him and his beloved wife, Hannah. The door opened, and Hannah poked her head inside, looking just as beautiful as she had looked these last three years.

"Neville, Harry is here to see you," she said, smiling, a smile that Neville returned.

"Well, by all means, send him in," he said, and Hannah opened the door further, allowing the tall and gangly Harry to step inside, looking worse than ever. He truly had been using himself up more and more freely. He looked like he hadn't eaten for days, and knowing Harry, he probably hadn't.

"Good evening, Neville," Harry greeted happily, as if he couldn't have seen a more pleasant sight in his life. "It is nice to finally see a friendly face, aside from Fleur's. Might I trouble you for a cigar?"

He gestured for the cigar case on Neville's desk, and at Neville's nod, he opened it and took out a cigar, fishing a snipper out of his pocket.

"You look tired, Harry," Neville said, striking a match and lighting Harry's cigar.

"Work," Harry answered as he started pacing around the scarcely decorated study. Neville wasn't used to visitors, so his study was merely filled with bookcases, a desk, his chair, and a single couch. "I have been working hard, trying to find the mysterious Mr. Moriarty."

"More poison?" Neville asked, and Harry nodded.

"Oh yes. Every high-ranking member of Moriarty's crime syndicate carries with them a vial of poison, which they drink without hesitation whenever there is no chance to escape," he said, sounding frustrated. "It irks me, Neville. It irks me something fierce. His games, his murders, his thefts, all crimes that I can solve. I can solve the crime, I can catch the criminal, but I can never reach the man behind the scenes!"

"I assume you didn't just come here to complain?" Neville guessed, his eyes glinting with amusement.

"Of course not," Harry said, shaking his head. "This is merely exchanging pleasantries."

"Most people talk about the weather and such, Harry Potter complains about cases," Neville said with an amused shake of his head, going back to his writing. Sensing Harry's gaze upon him, he explained, "I am currently writing down the case of The Missing Thumb, our last case together."

"Last?" Harry asked, scoffing. "Surely not. It is always a pleasure for me to have you come along on the cases and take notes, although you may wish to tone down-"

"The romanticism, I know, but this is a novel of sorts, Harry, something for people to read and enjoy, not read and analyze," Neville interrupted.

"Yes, well, in any case, I don't want you to think that I find your presence to be a nuisance, Neville," Harry said. "I've just believed that you might be too busy, being married, and having your own private practice. I didn't want to be a bother."

"A bother?" Neville asked as he spun on his chair to look at Harry, who had taken a seat on the couch across the room. "My dear Harry, you would never be a bother to me. I find our cases together to be exciting, not to mention that I find your methods to always be interesting."

Harry sat in silence, merely puffing on his cigar as he observed Neville, who felt very exposed. From Harry, a Legilimens with a great eye for details, he knew that he could hold no secrets. Therefore, it always unnerved him a bit when he was the one being observed by Harry.

"When is she due?" Harry asked suddenly. Neville blinked.

"Pardon?"

"Hannah. When is the baby due to arrive?"

"Oh!" Neville said, a smile immediately appearing on his face. "April. If it's a boy, we're going to name him Harry."

Harry's eyes widened considerably at that.

"Really?"

"Really."

"I'm honored."

"I would have told you, but I wasn't sure where you were. The last time I went to see you, you weren't home," Neville said. "Neither were you home the last five times I was there."

"Fleur and I went to France," Harry said. "Her father needed my help. I am bound by a magical oath not to talk about it for a while, so don't ask me what it was."

Neville nodded immediately. He knew how important it was for some politicians to keep things quiet.

"You'll be godfather?" Neville asked, making Harry blink in surprise.

"I..." He looked too surprised to speak properly. "My dear Neville, I would be honored. You will, if I ever have a child?"

"I would be equally honored, my friend."

The two smiled at each other, then sat in silence. Neville tried to say something, but couldn't think of anything. So, he steered the conversation back to where it started.

"So, any new messages from Moriarty?"

"Nothing," Harry said, shaking his head. "Not a word since the letter three years ago, which means that I haven't gotten a single step closer to uncovering... his... identity..."

Harry trailed off as he seemed to realize something. He rubbed his neck and started moving his mouth, but no words came out. Neville thought he could see his friend mouthing "I am" to himself.

Then, Harry shot to his feet, staring intently at Neville.

"Neville, you said you find our adventures interesting, yes?"

"Of course," Neville said with a nod.

"Well then, how would you like to come with me to see something very interesting?"

–

With a crack like a gunshot, Neville and Harry appeared on the square outside number twelve, Grimmauld Place. Harry looked very intently at the building, looking like he was thinking hard.

"Of course, that would give him everything he'd need... And he'd be able to get information from the Death Eaters..."

It clicked for Neville.

"You've figured out who he is?"

"Yes, I believe I have," Harry said with a nod, moving over to the building. His long legs carried him fast across the street, and Neville almost had to break into a jog to keep up. "It was so simply. How didn't I see it before?"

When they reached the door, Harry whipped out his wand and tapped it once. The door swung open, and the two stepped into the dimly lit hallway, heading straight for the stairs leading down to the kitchen, Harry slamming open the door.

Immediately, Neville and Harry found themselves staring at the tips of a good ten wands, at least, as every Order member that had been in the meeting they interrupted had reacted quickly to the disturbance.

"Good evening," Harry said pleasantly.

Dumbledore was the first to lower his wand. His face, which had been serious, broke into a brilliant smile.

"Harry! Neville! How good to see you two! But please, in the future, do try to knock?"

"No time for knocking, Professor," Harry said as the others lowered their wands. "We just came here to sit in on one of your meetings. You know, see what it is you're doing. You said the invitation was open, after all?"

"Of course, of course," Dumbledore said, waving his wand and making two chair appear out of thin air, setting down at the table.

"Oh," Harry said as he grabbed his chair and pulled it into the corner of the kitchen, placing him behind Dumbledore to the right, "if you don't mind, I'll sit here. Neville," he said and gestured for the corner to Dumbledore's left. Neville nodded and grabbed his chair, moving it to the corned and sitting down.

"Why sit there, boys?" Dumbledore asked, blinking in amused surprise, only for Harry to shrug.

"I merely wish to observe, not interact," Harry said simply and reached into his pocket, taking out his black clay pipe and lighting it with his wand. "Please, do continue."

"Well," a tall, red-haired man with his hair tied up into a ponytail said, clearing his throat, "as I was saying, Ragnok..."

The meeting was, to Neville, very boring. They talked and talked about nothing but pointless things, in Neville's opinion. They talked about what kind of damage Voldemort had done, what kind of forces he had, what could be done, and what would be done. Neville found himself on the verge of nodding off several times, but whenever he looked to his companion, he found him staring intently at the Order members. He obviously wasn't listening to what they were saying, but instead studying each and every person gathered around the table.

"You look tired," Sirius said once the meeting was over, moving over to Harry, who hummed. "Been working too hard lately, have you?"

"A bit," Harry said with a nod, rising from his chair and stretching as Neville moved over.

"Well, come on, I'll take you to Rosmerta, buy you a pint," Sirius said, patting Harry on the shoulder. Just then, however, Dumbledore came walking over.

"So, what did you boys think? It was not our most interesting meeting ever, but still..."

"Oh, it's nothing for me," Harry said with a shake of his head. "But thank you, Professor, for letting us sit in."

"Yes, thank you, Professor," Neville said, nodding.

–

"Aah," Sirius sighed in relief as he came out of the Three Broomsticks with Neville and Harry. "Oh, that tasted great."

"Agreed," Harry said, wrapping his coat tighter around himself against the chill.

"So, you think this Moriarty is someone in the Order?" Sirius asked, and Harry shook his head.

"I don't _think_ he is someone in the Order, Sirius. I _know_ he is someone in the Order."

Sirius looked thoughtful as he walked, and Neville spoke up.

"It's Snape, isn't it?"

"Snape!" Sirius said, stopping suddenly and spinning around to look at Harry, who looked a bit smug. "Of course it was Snape! Who else could possibly know you, the Order's plans, _and_ Voldemort's plans?"

"Yes, there is Snape," Harry said, nodding. "Then there's someone else..."

"Who?" Neville asked.

In response, Harry drew his gun from out of his coat and pressed it against Sirius' chest.

"Sirius Black has been dead for a long time, hasn't he?" Harry asked, making Neville and Sirius' eyes widen.

"Harry, what-" Neville started, but Harry held up his hand and tapped the barrel of his gun against Sirius' chest, and Neville could hear a distinct clinking sound.

"You had him in your grasp ever since he touched that locket, didn't you, Riddle?" Harry asked, making Neville's eyes widen even further. Sirius' surprised look was replaced by a sinister smile, his eyes flashing red.

"At last. I thought you would never figure it out, even with the obvious clue I left in the last letter.

"A Riddle I couldn't solve, yes, that's how I figured it out. But how? It took months for Ginny Weasley to succumb to the influence of your diary. How could you take over my godfather?"

"Oh, it was very easy," Riddle said with a chuckle. "Azkaban had left his mind rather fragile, and it was easy to get a grip on him when he first touched the locket."

"How cruel of you," Harry said emotionlessly, and Riddle shrugged.

"Well, if you know about the locket, you know it's a Horcrux," Riddle, or Moriarty, said, still smirking sinisterly. "I cannot die. Only something that completely destroys it can kill a Horcrux."

"Yes, I know," Harry said with a nod. "Like goblin-silver bullets dipped in Basilisk venom."

Riddle's eyes only had a nanosecond to react, before a boom rang out, echoing through Hogsmeade. Black blood like tar blossomed from Sirius' chest as he stumbled backward, letting out a terrifying scream of pain and dropping to his knees.

People were coming out from the buildings all around them to see how Sirius' skin started to peel, showing that young, seventeen-year old Riddle from the memory Harry had acquired from Morfin Gaunt and showed Neville, who felt sick to his stomach as he watched the body collapse to the ground, dead.

"And so, another Horcrux is destroyed, the one I thought didn't exist..." Harry muttered as he lowered his revolver, holstering it again. He closed his eyes for a few moments, then opened them and looked at Neville. "My dear Neville, I wish to be alone right now. Would you be opposed to going home?"

"Are..." Neville swallowed, glancing down at the body. "Are you going to be okay?"

"I'll be fine. I just... I just have a lot to take in. And I wouldn't want you to be held up by the Aurors, questioned about things you didn't even know about, so go on."

Neville gulped and nodded, before Apparating away.

–

_It is with a heavy heart that I take up my quill to write these the last words in which I shall ever record the singular gifts by which my friend Mr. Harry Potter was distinguished. In an incoherent and, as I deeply feel, an entirely inadequate fashion, I have endeavored to give some account of my strange experiences in his company from the "Man with Two Faces," up to the time of his interference in the matter of the "Headless Case," an interference which had the unquestionable effect of preventing a serious international complication. It was my intention to have stopped there, and to have said nothing of that event which has created a void in my life which the lapse of two years has done little to fill._

_My hand has been forced, however, by the recent letters in which many fools defend the memory of their former master, and I have no choice but to lay the facts before the public exactly as they occurred. I alone know the absolute truth of the matter, and I am satisfied that the time has come when no good purpose is to be served by its suppression. As far as I know, there have been only three accounts in the public press: that in the Journal de Genève on May 6th, 2008, the Reuter's dispatch in the English papers on May 7th, and finally the recent letters to which I have alluded. Of these the first and second were extremely condensed, while the last is, as I shall now show, an absolute perversion of the facts. It lies with me to tell for the first time what really took place between Lord Voldemort and Mr. Harry Potter._

_Neville Longbottom_

–

"Well, I'd say you shouldn't work so hard for a while, but that would be like telling a bird not to fly," Neville said as he finished his examination of Harry, who chuckled and put his voluminous shirt back on.

"Yes, well-"

The door to Neville's old bedroom was suddenly opened, and Fleur strode out of it, looking beautiful as ever. Were Neville not a married man...

"Oh, good afternoon, Neville, I zought I 'eard you come in earlier," she said pleasantly, striding over to Harry and giving him a kiss. "I will be going shopping, 'Arry."

"Hm, yes..." Harry said. Once she had left the room, Harry changed the subject. "Any word from Hermione?"

"I got a letter the other day," Neville said, sitting down in his usual armchair, Harry doing the same. "Seems she and Krum have gone to Africa, and together they will be studying Nundu, if they can find one."

"Twelve years, she's been gone now," Harry said, humming. "An awful long time for a trip around the world, don't you think? It's not _that_ big."

"Still with all your tools and gifts, you are still unable to recognize a woman in love," Neville said with an amused laugh.

"I would, but she never sends me any letters," Harry said grumpily.

"Maybe she thinks you won't read them? That's why she sends them to me."

"She didn't show up to your wedding."

"Nor will she show up to yours," Neville said with a shrug. "But she sent me a card, and I am sure she will send you one, too. More cases?"

He was gesturing for a pile of letters on Harry's desk. Harry just nodded and lit his pipe. Neville moved over to the desk and picked them up. They were all opened, so Harry had probably solved them already.

"Mr. Lewis wants to find out if his wife is cheating on him..." he muttered, rifling through the letters. "Mrs. Adams wants to find her diamond ring... No wonder you're bored."

Harry hummed in agreement.

"Now, come on, we have to get you some new clothes for your wedding," Neville said, setting the letters back down on the desk as Harry nodded.

"Still can't really believe I'm going to be married..." he muttered, and Neville chuckled, patting him on the back.

"I had the same feeling. But if you don't feel ready for it, why insist on doing it now, and not after you defeat Voldemort?"

Harry shrugged. "It just felt better doing it before."

–

"_Why here?" I asked my friend over the wind as we stood, staring down into the English Channel from on top of the Cliffs of Dover. Harry merely shrugged._

"_Perhaps he thought it a good place for a final confrontation?" he suggested. "I don't know, Neville, but the message was quite clear."_

"_And why do you need me here? I'm not strong enough to take on Voldemort," I shamefully admitted. For so long, I had stood by his side, and now, here, at the end of it all, I would be of no use._

_Harry laughed._

"_For if he brings his little Death Eaters, of course," he said, sounding almost happy, but I thought I could hear what sounded like resignation in his voice. Then, he blinked. "He's coming. Hide, Neville!"_

_I immediately turned and ran to hide behind a rock, just as the sound of Apparition was heard._

"_This is the strangest place you picked for a final confrontation, don't you think?" Harry asked, his hands behind his back. He looked to the side to see Lord Voldemort standing there, his face devoid of emotion._

"_Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived..." Voldemort hissed, his blood-red eyes narrowed. "You look old."_

"_Stress can do that to you," Harry admitted with a nod and a yawn._

_Voldemort's wand was up in a flash, as was Harry's blocking Voldemort's spell and sending it back to the sender, who dodged to the side. The two engaged in what they both knew would be their final battle, throwing spell after spell at each other, both of them blocking or dodging the other's spells and curses._

_It was obvious that they were both each other's equal, as I had never before seen a duel such as this. Both of them looked remarkably calm, yet they both threw spells that sent shivers down my spine, even though I was a great distance away. They appeared to be talking to each other during their duel, but due to the crashes and bangs around them coming from stray spells, I was unable to hear what they were saying. Whatever it was, however, it seemed to enrage Lord Voldemort, who attacked with even more speed, speed matched easily by Harry._

_A Killing Curse whizzed by my ear, and I found myself ducking low behind my cover as the two did battle. When I chanced a glance at the two duelists, I saw a smirk on my friend's face as a large chunk of the cliff was blown off. I knew he had a plan, as I had seen that smirk many times, but I would have given everything I had to know what that plan was, so that I may have stopped it._

_The spells of the two duelists locked with each other, creating a glowing, dripping chain of magic that linked them together, and when Harry broke it, in the silence, even from so far away, I heard what he said, and I rose from my spot and ran toward him._

"_And so, we reach our ends, Tom!"_

_As I ran toward Harry, Harry ran toward Voldemort. Only now did I realize what Harry had done. All of this had been his plan. The duel had maneuvered Voldemort to the side of the cliff, the cases he solved, the people he had arrested, it was all to irritate the Dark Lord to the point of showing himself, and now, Harry did what he believed was the best thing for him to do..._

_He tackled the Dark Lord Voldemort over the cliff, and sent them both plummeting to their deaths._

_By the time I reached the edge of the cliff, I looked over the edge and saw something that sickens me to this day. The water was colored red with blood. Voldemort's broken body lay splattered against a particularly jagged rock, but Harry's body was nowhere to be seen._

_When the Aurors removed the body later that day, rejoicing, I was the only one who stayed and investigated the scene. I saw no sign of Harry, but in the Channel... There was a great chance that his body had been washed away, but if he survived, surely, he would have shown up at his flat, lit his pipe, and told me something along the lines of, "Don't I always survive, my dear Neville?"_

_Three years, it has been since that day, and still, I haven't seen my friend, which leads me to the conclusion that he truly is dead... It saddens me, but that's the way it is. Harry must have been dead, for Voldemort was dead as well..._

_Fleur has been grieving as well, more than any of us. However, Harry left something behind, a legacy, in young Harry Potter the Second, who is now approaching his third birthday. It is my greatest hope that I, as godfather, will be able to guide and help my godson as his father helped and guided me, for I dare not even imagine how my life would have looked had I not met Harry Potter on that train ride all those years ago..._

_This is the last book written by Neville Longbottom, in loving memory of Harry James Potter, 1980 – 2010. He lived a full and happy life, doing what he did best._

Neville put his quill down and smiled down at the parchment on his desk. He quickly put on his tweed jacket and his coat and hat and moved out of the room. As he stepped out of his door, he looked down the street of the Leaky Cauldron, which Hannah had taken over, an in which they now lived, where Neville also had his private practice. His eyes landed on 221B Diagon Alley, his mind drifting back to all the things he had gone through with the man who made him who he was.

With a crack, he disappeared, and reappeared in the dark and snowy graveyard of Godric's Hollow, leaving obvious tracks of having apparated there, something Harry would have noticed in a flash.

Speaking of which... Neville moved through the graveyard until he reached the tombstone he was looking for. There, between the tombstone of James and Lily Potter, and the tombstone of Sirius Black.

**Harry James Potter**

**July 31st 1980 – August 15th 2010**

**The Great Detective**

"**Schade, daß die Natur nur einen Mensch aus dir schuf,**

**Denn zum würdigen Mann war und zum Schelmen der Stoff."**

"Do not pity the dead, Neville," came the soothing voice of Albus Dumbledore from behind him. "Death, the world's greatest mystery... I'm sure Harry is happy to have solved it, and I'm sure he would have wished for you to be as well."

"Maybe so, but so many who die deserve to live, and vice versa..." Neville muttered as he knelt before the tombstone, conjuring a bouquet of lilies and putting them on Harry's grave... "If anyone deserved life, it was him..."

Dumbledore hummed in agreement, kneeling next to Neville, putting a hand on his shoulder.

"This was his plan all along," Neville said as he rose and started walking away. He didn't feel like being around Dumbledore for too long. "I think he planned this long before you did."

And with those parting words, Neville left a gaping Dumbledore standing in the cemetery of Godric's Hollow...

–

**So, what do you think? Like it? Love it? Hate it? ****REVIEW, ****REVIEW, ****REVIEW, ****REVIEW, ****REVIEW, ****REVIEW, ****REVIEW**!

**I may be posting a sequel to this, or I may be doing a prequel, showing the first three years at Hogwarts, I don't know yet, but what I do know is that I'm pretty damn sure that the Harry Holmes saga isn't complete yet!**


	8. Sequel!

**Hello, my loyal readers! For those of you who don't know, I have actually released the sequel to this sequel! It's called The Return of Harry Holmes! Please, have a look at it, if you want!**


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